Philophobic
by air du temps
Summary: Bakura is an O.C.D. paralegal slapped with a stranger's ridiculous library fee. Seeking monetary retribution, he finds Marik Ishtar, a young man with mysterious issues of his own. Bakura becomes captivated with the strange Egyptian. Struggling to cope with the unexpected anguish that arises from their interactions, not even he can prevent his personal life from crumbling. BxM AU.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh

I am not associated to the London Library, their reference is purely fictional.

(This fic is loosely abridged inspired. I try to keep the character basics as canon as possible in an AU. I chose the name Bakura Jagger because Ryou will be his own character. Thus, Bakura became the first name of Yami Bakura, along with a "British last name" for the sake of the AU.)

* * *

_Did I close the cabinet properly?_

Three steps back. Check.

_Wait. I put the file back in the right place right?_

Opens cabinet. Fingers quickly flip through the folders.

_Yes, it's there. Everything is okay. I can just go. Stop fucking checking._

It was hard to alleviate those nagging thoughts, but meticulousness was important in this job. He only wished it would end there...

He needed that cigarette.

He could finally leave.

Phone check. Suitcase check. Wallet check. Phone double check. Keys check. Tube pass check. He closed his computer, right? Yes, yes he did. He triple checked that too and he hated himself for it.

No, nothing is holding him back from this weekend of relaxation. Less people to deal with. Less things to worry about. Just himself and his coffee and his books and his cigarettes and his own lethargy and apathy.

Things that were all his. That he could control. Things that could not and would not aggravate him. His only paradise.

He entered the lift and pressed the button that would bring him to the lobby. Only once. He felt okay with it that time. He felt an urge to fidget his fingers but he couldn't do so when he was holding a suitcase. If he was going to stretch out one hand, he wouldn't want to leave the other...it wouldn't feel _equal_ to him.

Calmly he walked across the lobby, listening intently to the clack of his shoes across the expensive tiles. One shoe sounded slightly different. _Odd._ He frowned.

Exiting the building, he quickly walked over to the nearest bench and rested his suitcase on it.

He loved the professionalism of a suitcase, but it lacked the practicality of a messenger bag that he alternated with. It made lighting a cigarette much more difficult.

A thought struck him. _I forgot to check for that before leaving_. Luckily they were in his breast pocket.

He placed a cigarette between his lips before loosening his tie. Now he felt ready. He lit the cigarette, replaced the pack and lighter in his pocket, and proceeded to resentfully do his ritual of checking his belongings _again_.

He was ready.

He cracked his knuckles before moving his fingers until it felt _right_ again.

He loathed the way it affected his body.

Sharply inhaling the toxic fumes, he felt at ease. Watching his exhaled smoke cloud brought him comfort. Ironic that he felt his existence to be bearable, his life to be alright, in the moments where he was slowly killing himself. By choice.

It was time to head to the Tube. The rush wasn't going to die down any time soon...

* * *

He stood in the small lineup at the library. He just wanted some new books for the weekend. He held his suitcase in one hand and three books in the other. It was a pain to _organize_ the pile for their size differences did not augment smoothly between them. He had finally settled on deciding their order by height, even though the first book stuck out a little in width. He would have to endure this slight..._discomfort_.

He looked around to distract himself from the unbalanced books in his hand and the minutes slipping away from him as his watch ticked away. People were quietly shuffling around, some in suits like himself. He did _unwillingly_ notice that the shelves in his sight were not equally interspersed. A reading area had some books scattered on the table. A part of him understood the casual appearance, its appeal, even appreciated it, but he still couldn't help but wish they were neatly pilled, accordingly.

Sighing, he took two steps forward, as the line advanced. He wanted to pull out his wallet and take out his card, but that would require setting down his suitcase and the books. It would be less of a hassle to simply wait till he could deposit his items on the counter. Searching his wallet would only be a ten second delay when he really thought about it.

He managed to space out for the remainder of the line...a rather concerning habit along with his blackouts throughout the day. It fit the symptoms of having low blood pressure, but he couldn't help but wonder at the frequency of it. Of course, seeing a doctor about it was out of the question...it would probably be a waste of time.

_God he was such a nervous wreck over himself._

"Next."

He deposited his uneven books on the counter and promptly retrieved his library card.

The librarian scanned the card, stared at her screen for a few moments before frowning.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, unimpressed with whatever was concerning her. Probably a computer issue that would waste more of his time...

He was so obsessed with efficiency; it even made himself feel put off by it.

"There seems to be an outstanding fee," the woman tried to explain calmly.

_Tried. Was this going to be a huge issue?_

"There must be an error. I owe nothing. I brought all the books back long before they were due. I'm not a slow reader," he spat out the last part with its unwanted implications.

"Well according to the system, you haven't returned a book since July, last year."

"Impossible." _The insolence of this woman._

"'Anxiety in the Modern World' has not been in this library since you last took it out."

"Are you seriously trying to tell me that there's been a book missing for over a year and your system only noticed now? That sounds like a rather shoddy system to me. Unreliable and inaccurate. I returned that book July of last year." His patience was running thin as he tried to hush the shouts threatening to spill.

"Please Mr. Jagger, I do apologize for any inconvenience."

He took a deep breath and exhaled before saying anything rash. "Look. Clearly your system buggered up. The book must be somewhere in here. Can't we just move along with our lives and I promise I will replace said book that I did _not_ lose if you don't find it by the end of the month?" he was being beyond reasonable. _She better bloody agree._

"I'm sorry Mr. Jagger-"

"Bakura, please." He hated the association to that singing twat.

"Bakura, I do apologize but our system does not allow us to lend any books to those who have not paid their fees."

He could feel his eye twitch in annoyance. Literally.

"You should really consider getting a new system," he replied through clenched teeth.

She winced.

"So how much is this fee?"

She hesitated.

"Oh please do take your time, it's not like I have anywhere to be on this fine Friday night."

"Because it's been over a year-"

"Which your system didn't even notice."

"Y-yes...because of technical difficulties...the fee amounts to 68 pounds."

_Did he hear that right?_

"Are you mad? 68 pounds!"

"It has been 14 months-"

"I RETURNED IT IN JULY!"

"Please, Mr. Jag-... Bakura. Do not yell in the library."

Someone was going to pay for this and it wasn't going to be him.

"I am not paying such a ridiculous library fee for a mistake I did _not_ commit!"

"But Sir, you must-"

"I'll buy a new bloody book!"

"Sir, your library card is a binding contract agreeing to any fees brought upon you. Buying a new copy will not erase the fee."

"You _are_ barking mad."

"Please Bakura, Sir, calm down."

"Would you be calm if a fucking _system_ screwed up and presented you with a fine of sixty-fucking-eight-bloody-quid!?"

"I-"

"No you wouldn't! Now look into your great system and fix the error. Some other wanker must have taken out the book and it didn't register," he waved his hand in a dismissive sign. His other hand ran up his forehead and through his thick white hair in frustration. He was going to get a migraine from this.

"The last status regarding this book was you borrowing it and someone placing a reserve on it."

Luckily, unlike this trollop, his mind actually functioned. "A reserve? When?"

"In July, because you had taken it out."

"Isn't it possibly that you lent the book _I returned_ to this person and the system didn't register it?"

"Umm..."

"Well call him up! Or her." He leaned against the counter, scrutinizing the librarian until she picked up the phone. He mentally took note of the numbers she dialed, just in case, and listened to the one sided conversation.

"Hello," she spoke in a cheerful tone. "Am I speaking to a..." she squinted at the screen, "Marik Ishtar?"

_What kind of bloody name was that? Then again, he wasn't one to talk with a name like Bakura...stupid fucking hippie parents._

"Ah yes. I'm calling from the London Library and..."

He blocked out this boring part of the conversation. He already knew the name and number. His mind wandered to his post-library plans. He would take the Tube at Green Park. It was about the same distance as the Piccadilly Circus stop, but with much less tourists. That was the ultimate deciding factor. _Mr. Marik Ishtar better hurry up so that he could get home...or was it a girl? _He wasn't familiar with this foreign name.

"Bakura?"

"Hmm?"

"Mr. Ishtar denies possessing the book."

"Well he's lying."

That seemed to throw her off. "Umm..."

"I'm not paying your ridiculous fee and you can keep these damn books," he gestured towards his pile.

"You still have a fee to a, um..."

"I'm not paying it. Marik is. 7700 900391 right?"

"Yes...wait! I mean! I cannot give out personal information-"

"Too late," he smirked. Taking his suitcase he headed for the London Underground.

* * *

Sitting at home, Bakura contemplated his next move. He had the man's number but that did not guarantee the money. He needed to create some sort of ruse...something to lure Marik out.

He sighed and lit a new fag.

Carelessly he deposited the pack and lighter on his coffee table. It was funny how in his anger, he found peace from his O.C.D. tendencies. His solace resided in rage. He was able to live only when unpleasant circumstances required his negative passions.

He was still seething from the incident and thus the lighter was not parallel to the pack of fags, nor to the coffee table's edge. And it did not bother him.

Bakura's flat was flawlessly organized and streamlined for efficiency. Everything had a place and that place was chosen for very good reasons. He did not like clutter so he ritually purged items that did not meet their purpose to the fullest. The belongings that made the cut were never to be found out of place. Having to dig around for a pair of scissors was _not_ efficient. It was out of the question. They would always remain in the same kitchen miscellaneous drawer.

Notepads and pens did not have use in his living room. They never entered this room. They remained on the desk of his spare room that he used as an office for those tedious nights of paperwork.

His living room was purely for entertainment purposes. Notepads, and scissors, and pens were not entertaining.

Instead his living room contained the typical flat screen tv, a video game consoled that doubled as a blue ray player, a couch, the coffee table, a chair, a shelving unit where movies and video games were alphabetically ordered, some books also ordered in whatever way Bakura desired, a plant, a lamp, an ashtray and some art work on the wall. Exactly what you would expect from a single man in his mid-twenties.

The walls were a grey toned taupe that complimented the dark grey couch. The floor lamp was a metallic grey. The chair was a stark white to add contrast while the rest of the furniture was a dark chocolate brown in colour. Overall it was a neutrally pleasing room. Modern and crisp. To add some life though, Bakura did included some burgundy accent pillows in his purchases as well as the bits of colour the art work, and the dark plum plant pot offered. And the plant itself had deep green leaves of course.

Most importantly, it was clean.

Bakura strived to maintain a spotless flat.

His fingers twitched restlessly against his thigh while the other hand steadily held his cigarette.

_What was he going to do about Marik?_ Everything depended on how gullible and foolish this person was.

The only feasible plan he could come up with was that Marik won a fake contest, but where would he go from there? Was it better to meet him out in the streets? _No, that's silly. Contest winners don't meet in the streets. Maybe he could deliver it? Yes, that seemed far more doable._

He supposed now was a better time than ever. As soon as he was finished his fag.

He relished his last few smoked filled moments before having to make this dreaded phone call. He hated having to talk to other people; Bakura was not shy, he simply loathed others.

He snuffed out his cigarette in the black ashtray and pulled out his mobile.

_Time to sound pleasant. _

Ring one. Ring two. Ring three. Ring four. _Was this wanker going to pick up?_ Ring five.

"Hello?" a gravelly voice answered.

It almost reminded him of nails against a chalkboard. Almost. It lack the high pitch quality of that horrendous shudder inducing action.

"Hello. Who am I speaking to?" he figured was a good way to start.

"What do you mean 'who am I speaking to'? You're the one who called me!"

_Oh joy, he got a stubborn one._

"Well are you Marik Ishtar then?" he tried to keep his irritation in check, lest it would seep into his _pleasant voice_.

"Yes. What do you want?"

_What a rude wanker!_ The urge to yell profanities was growing, but Bakura had to keep up his ruse. "I'm calling to inform you that you won a contest. A 500 pound gift certificate redeemable at...any shopping centre owned by...Kaiba Corp."

"What shopping centres does Kaiba Corp own?" Slight scepticism could be heard underneath that annoying core which consisted of Marik Ishtar's unfortunate voice.

"All of them," Bakura stated factually.

"And how did I win this gift card?"

"Everyone who shopped at any of the stores was automatically entered." _That was a really idiotic cover. What the hell was I thinking? No one would fall for that explanation._

"Oh okay!"

_Well fuck. There were still morons in the world. _

"We just need your address so that we can courier your prize."

The fool was more than happy to give it.

* * *

Bakura lay in bed wide awake that night, which was pretty commonplace for him, except this time he had a reason. His thoughts were preoccupied with tomorrow's forthcoming events.

He would go to work, locate that bloody file, eat lunch, drown himself in coffee throughout the day with interspersed smoking breaks, and he would hop on the Tube to Marik Ishtar's home. It was located on the opposite end of London, at least opposite to his end of town.

He was unfamiliar with the area and he just knew that he would spend a good part of his day tomorrow obsessively reviewing the area online. He did not want to get lost or waste his time wandering. His plan had to be flawless.

Propping himself on his elbows, Bakura quickly fluffed his pillow and flipped it over. He did this occasionally throughout the night, settling into temporary comfort until he was too tired to notice and essentially passed out.

Faint light seeped in through his curtains, which was expected when living in a metropolitan. The light did not bother him though. Bakura found it much easier to nap in broad daylight than in the darkness. He did not understand the mechanics of himself in regards to that; it was simply how he was. Somehow the shadows kept him awake at night, if there was an opposite to photosynthesis, he would be it. Maybe there was and he just didn't know.

Bakura regarded himself to be highly intelligent compared to most, and even arrogant, but he never mixed the too. It would be foolish to think himself an expert in all areas of the universe. He knew where he flourished and he appropriately remained there. Not that he was not open to enriching his knowledge, but he still would not dare assume what he could not vouch with certainty.

Staring at the wall he focused in and out of his strange field of vision. Specifically snow vision they had called it. For most of his life he was under the impression that his vision was standard. He did not know any better. Luckily for him it was not too hindering, he mostly saw it at night. It appeared to be most noticeable in darkness to those affected by it. Bakura had simply attributed the oddly blurry and pixilated world to poor lighting conditions. It seemed logical enough?

Without his contacts in or his glasses on, his bedroom took on an even less accurate view. Not that his vision was terrible, but it did distort the details. Dark shapes distinguished the furniture and items in his room.

A pale limb reached out from his bed sheets and strewn pillows to grasp his phone on the bed side table. A sharp contrast to the rest of his behaviour, Bakura slept in a sea of twisted sheets and disarrayed pillows. He could only find comfort in a fluffy mess, something a made up bed did not do for him. Pressing a discreet side button, the screen flashed to life and an ominous **1:32 AM** glared at him. A stark reminder he faced nearly every night; he would not get enough sleep. He would face another day with a veil of fatigue.

He closed his eyes for possibly the twentieth time that night and attempted sleep. Trying to ignore those pesky numbers imprinted in his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh

Thank you for the reviews, favs and follows~

* * *

_He was hiding. Hiding in a cabinet in some building. He could hear the beast stalking outside. His work colleagues were somewhere else in the building. The atmosphere was filled with anxiety and tense with fear._

Bakura woke with a start from his annoying phone alarm. Every morning, it would rip him out of his deep sleep and roughly reinstate him into reality. He sluggishly groped for his phone, catching air the first few tries before he could finally shut off the _damn thing_.

His entire being felt heavy and his eyes could not be bothered to open. Every morning was a struggle to get out of bed; always under slept and unmotivated.

Even on his off days it was difficult to feel well rested. His dreams, regardless of content, always contained a sense of dread. Too often anxiety became the dominant emotion, irrationally nervous as he tried to survive his ridiculous imagination. _How pathetic was he to be affected even in his dreams? _

He took a deep breath and forced himself to roll out of bed, untangling himself from his sheets in the process. He did the obligatory stretch and heard a few cracks, the usual. It felt nice though.

He put on his glasses and headed to the kitchen, ignoring the constant temptation of his bed calling to him.

Drowsily he prepared his coffee maker and started the machine. He leaned against the counter and watched the pot, waiting for the first drips of that wonderful dark elixir.

Lazily, his eyes swept over to the clock that read **7:12 AM**. His lids were barely open, he felt so groggy. The first drip splattered in the bottom of the pot. Soon it would be filled with the bitter liquid he depended on.

Something felt off to Bakura though. He couldn't quite pin point what it was.

Today was the day he would confront Marik Ishtar, but he was sure it was something else bothering him.

For the first time since yesterday's rage, he considered the possibility that maybe Marik didn't have the book. Maybe someone else had picked it up without the system registering. Maybe the system even lent it out to multiple people before having some sort of weird malfunction that erased all transactions back to his?

That seemed unlikely though. Then again, the entire situation was unlikely and it still happened to him. _He wasn't crazy for going after Marik... that was the most logical lead he had! Besides, the guy completely ruined his weekend._

His eyes widened in realisation: _IT WAS FUCKING SATURDAY! _

_HE WOKE UP FOR ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NOTHING! AND IT WAS ALL THAT WANKER MARIK ISHTAR'S FAULT!_

He was so engrossed in yesterday's frustrations and planning that he forgot it was a Friday night.

There were only two precious days out of the week where he could sleep in and he missed one! He was so angry that he wanted to stab someone, preferably Marik.

Bakura cried out in frustration as he clutched his hair. _WHAT A FUCKING WASTE!_

With his rage revived, he jabbed the off button on his coffee maker; he would deal with that later.

He walked back to his room, trying desperately to calm his irritation. He already knew it was going to be a bittersweet sleep as he climbed into bed again.

_Marik will pay. _

* * *

Hours later, Bakura woke from a dissatisfying light sleep. Reluctantly, he left the pillow and sheet valley of bliss he had forged from all his tossing and turning. That was the hardest part of leaving bed. That and the chilly air outside of blanket haven.

He rubbed his eyes before once again putting on his glasses. Grabbing his phone, he checked the time: **11:02 AM**. _Well he dragged on this sleep long enough..._

The moment he stood up he had to pause. The light headed feeling and darkening vision compromised his being for a short time. Sometimes he wondered if he should see a doctor, just to confirm that it was innocent low blood pressure, but he hated going to hospitals. He always told himself if it were bad he would know, he would know to go see a professional. Still, a small part nagged that he was being stubborn.

On his way to the kitchen, he glanced over at the long mirror hanging on his bedroom wall. Like every morning he had ridiculous bed head. He gave up on fully taming his hair long ago, but he still tried to make it look more presentable than its current state. People had no idea how messy his hair could _really_ look. _Maybe he'd take a shower before finding that wanker._

The first thing he noticed when walking into his kitchen was the half made coffee. He glared at it. It was mocking him with bad memories of his ruined weekend. _Fuck it I'm grabbing coffee on the way_. Food could wait. He was never hungry when he woke up anyway.

He went straight to his bathroom to brush his teeth, wash his face and put in his contact lenses. The latter was always uncomfortable in the mornings. Very rarely did his eyes not feel dry after waking up. Luckily for him, the discomfort didn't last long and left after half an hour.

Staring into the bathroom mirror, he realised today would be a messy hair day, haphazardly tied up. From experience, he knew combing it would only make it worst and accentuate his bedhead. Plus, he would look like a complete prat if he tied it up neatly.

Before leaving his bathroom, his eyes swept over his sink to make sure everything was in place. He even turned the already shut off tap _just in case_ and scolded himself for falling for his stupid habits yet again.

A short walk brought him back to his bedroom where he immediately headed for his wardrobe. He quickly stripped and discarded his clothes in a hamper before pulling on clean boxers, and dark grey skinny jeans. He searched for a belt and settled on an old worn brown leather one before turning his attention to picking a shirt to wear. Tops were always the hardest part of his outfit to pick; it set the mood in his odd reasoning.

Taking the September weather into account, Bakura decided on a navy long sleeved shirt made out of light cotton with a few buttons on the front but no collar. He left those open and adjusted his belt so that the buckle aligned with his middle. He went over to his mirror to quickly tie up his strikingly white hair into a messy ponytail. It worked well with his naturally voluminous hair and the short front pieces framed his face appealingly. Lastly, he threw on an old knotted leather bracelet he had gotten used to wearing over the years.

After a final look over of his casual appearance, he felt decent enough to leave, but first he had to double check the map.

Grabbing his phone before leaving his bedroom, he gave that one final look over too. Everything seemed in place. His bed was left unmade, one of his few exceptions. Everything needed order, but he saw no point in that one. Why fix up something he would ruin within 24 hours? Especially considering he preferred it messy to begin with.

Once in his living room, he turned on his laptop that he left on the coffee table last night. Despite his spare room/office, he tended to leave his laptop out here for he used it more for entertainment than work related purposes. His cigarettes and lighter were also always left on his coffee table next to the ashtray. He didn't smoke in the morning though, or more specifically when he just woke up seeing as it was almost noon. He really only _needed_ his cigarettes midday after having to deal with people. It was a nice method for calming his nerves.

His laptop prompted for his password and he entered it. A few moments later, he was looking over the map for his route that a website produced. He quickly popped into his spare room to find a notepad and pen, and wrote down the instructions just in case his memory failed...which was rare, but the anxiety in him refused to let him leave unprepared, lest he wanted to endure a very stressful trip to Marik Ishtar's residence.

He stuffed his mobile, wallet, and paper into his pockets before putting on some black canvas trainers and a black jacket suitable for the mild weather which he left unbuttoned. His cigarettes, lighter, and ipod went into his jacket pockets.

After locking his flat, he checked the doorknob once and resisted the urge to check it a second time, forcing himself to get on the lift. His habits still got the better of him and he found himself feeling his pockets for his key items all over again, cursing his need to check. _That stupid fucking book didn't even help with his anxieties!_

* * *

Stepping off the Tube, Bakura made his way through the weekend crowd, desperate to reach above ground.

He took the last sips from his cooling coffee before tossing his empty cup in a bin.

Upon entering the above world, he shielded his eyes from the blaring afternoon sun. If there was one thing worse than forgetting your ipod, it was forgetting your sunglasses on a bright day. With his head low and his hands stuffed into his pockets, Bakura followed his designated path, after double checking his notes of course.

Marik was supposed to live only a few blocks from this stop.

Luckily for him, the internet did not lie in this case. It gave him time for a well needed smoke.

He found himself in a neighbourhood filled with old unkempt homes that seemed to be converted into apartments based on the amount of bins on the curb per house. It looked like hipster haven. It reminded Bakura of his student days. He was more sociable back then. He also drank more back then, as was expected_. It wasn't even that long ago...three years since he'd graduated? Yes, three. _

He will be 25 in December and already he felt more like he was nearing 30 instead. Those three short years really made a difference...

Based on the area, he was starting to suspect that Marik was young, potentially a student...or slacker.

Then he spotted the number he was searching for on one of the seemingly identical houses. He slowed down his pace to match his slow burning fag as he mentally prepared himself for his confrontation.

Taking his last soothing inhale, Bakura held the smoke in his lungs as he flicked the remainder of his fag to the ground and snuffed it out with his shoe.

Slowly he let the smoke blow out of his nose, feeling at ease.

It was time.

Heavy steps brought him to the front door, apartment A. He felt a pang in his chest as he knocked and anxiously waited for someone to answer.

He heard some shuffling and a young woman answered the door. _His girlfriend?_

She crossed her arms and gave him a once over, her small smile unwavering and lacking sincerity. A cat looked up from between her ankles, intrigued by the visitor.

"Hi, I'm looking for Marik Ishtar," he decided to speak first.

"Sorry, he's at work," she simply replied.

_Of fucking course. _

"Where does he work? I need to give him something. It's urgent."

"Electronics shop in the shopping centre by the Tube station," she offered vaguely.

"Well I need to know the actual place. I'm not psychic," Bakura tried very hard not to sound condescending, but sarcasm seeped into his words nonetheless.

If anything, the young woman seemed more responsive to this attitude and gave him a proper answer.

_Kids these days..._

* * *

After wasting another half hour of his time walking around, he finally found the shop Marik was supposed to work at. Naturally it was filled with people, so Bakura chose to peruse their merchandise as he looked out for his target amongst a sea of faces.

He noticed some dim teenagers leave a display in a mess. Well, a mess to Bakura. The latest mobiles were crooked or misplaced on their stands. _Some people just want to watch the world burn._

Unable to resist, he made his way to said display and began straightening the phones.

"Need some help?" _that_ voice spoke.

Bakura nearly jumped from shock, but instead whipped around to face _the voice_ with a scowl.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Marik Ishtar replied.

He was everything Bakura was _not_ expecting. Bleach blond, what looked like a bad spray on tan, lavender eyes, and even a hint of black eyeliner greeted Bakura. Everything about him looked fake!

That's when he noticed the slight accent in Marik's voice that he didn't pick up in their phone conversation last night. It didn't quite sound British. In fact, it reminded him of Americans. _Well, he certainly looks like he could be one of those California people._

"So you're Marik Ishtar?" he asked cautiously.

"Yeah. Do I know you? Wait, did Dan tell you I could get you a deal on an iphone? Look, that was a one time favour to a _close friend_. I don't even know you! That fool needs to stop telling people that," Marik began to rattle on, his voice grating on Bakura's nerves already.

"No, I'm not here for a bloody iphone you twat! I'm here for my book."

"Your what?"

"_You_ have that library book and they're charging me 68 quid for it," he pointed at Marik accusingly. He saw the expression on Marik's face change as it clicked to what he was referring to.

"I already told that woman I don't have it! How the hell did you find me? Who are you?" the blond shouted.

This did not surprise Bakura as he remembered him to be a rude wanker on the phone as well. "I'm the bloke you owe money to!"

"Look, if you really want, I'll give you a deal on that iphone anyway, but I'm not paying for something I don't owe. Not my fault you lost the book!" Marik shot back, smug as ever.

"I don't want your stupid fucking phone deal! I want my damn book back or _you_ pay the fine!"

"It's not my fine," the blond crossed his arms confidently.

"Oh believe me, it is your fine, and I'm not leaving you alone until I get what I want," he lowered his own voice to a threat.

"You're going to stalk me?" Marik asked incredulously.

"With good reason!"

"How are you so sure I have this book?"

"The library suspected you to potentially have it seeing as I don't because their bloody system buggered up," Bakura partially lied.

"Well I don't have it so-"

"I'll make you a deal," Bakura cut in. His patience was running thin with this dense individual.

Marik thought it over for a moment. "What is it?"

"I'll leave you alone if you let me search your flat with you. Only then will I know for certain it is not there."

"How can I trust that you searched your place properly in that case?" Marik turned his logic on him, only irritating Bakura further.

"Because I am _thorough,_" he replied through gritted teeth.

"I will agree to let you into my place only if I can verify myself that it is indeed not in yours. It's only fair since it's your problem. My place is the last resort, not the first," Marik offered determinedly.

Bakura hated to admit that he could not find a flaw in Marik's logic. It actually was a fair suggestion considering the circumstances... _Marik was less daft than he assumed_.

"Fine," Bakura relented to his immense displeasure.

"And you'll leave me alone after that?"

"Yes."

"Deal." Marik extended his hand which Bakura reluctantly shook, fearing it would stain his own hand with spray on tan.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh

Ravenstar-of-ShadowClan: pretty much XD

WhoWantsPie: I know Marik is Egyptian and stuff, but Bakura in the story doesn't know yet.

Thank you for the reviews, favs and follows! c:

Please enjoy~

* * *

For the second morning in a row, Bakura was abruptly woken by his phone. This time someone was calling him.

Blindly, he slapped the bedside table until his hand covered his mobile.

"Hello?" he answered, eyes still closed.

"Come open your door," the annoying voice that was Marik Ishtar resonated through his ears.

"Alright," Bakura sighed before hanging up. He looked at the screen and realised Marik was _very_ early.

Yesterday, after their deal, proper introductions were made and they decided to search Bakura's flat the next day. The sooner the better. Plus, they both had it off.

Loud pounding was heard down the hallway.

Bakura groaned and quickly got out of bed, stumbling through the hallway as his vision blurred from the blood not rushing to his head fast enough and forgetting his glasses.

More knocking.

"I'm coming you wanker!" he yelled, tired and confused as to why Marik was there suddenly.

Hastily, Bakura opened the door to reveal an unimpressed Marik.

Bakura's left hand clutched his head, waiting for the small blood rush migraine to go away as the slightly blurry form that was Marik appeared to be giving him a judgemental expression.

"What took you so long?" the blond immediately demanded.

"I was sleeping!" he snapped back, stepping aside to let the younger man in.

Marik crossed his arms and made no attempt to hide that he was looking over Bakura. "Nice hair," Marik smirked at the bed head.

The white haired man knew it was much flatter on the side he slept on that night and probably looked a little ridiculous. He gave no answer to his rude guest, but that didn't stop the blond from further commenting.

"You looked a lot hotter yesterday."

_Did he...did he seriously just say that!? How the hell do I even...was that even a compliment!?_

"Why are you here so early?" Bakura ignored the blond's previous words.

"Change of plans. I can't do it in the afternoon anymore because of some group project. I tried texting you about it."

"I was _sleeping_."

"You should probably put on some pants," Marik gave a nod towards Bakura's lower half.

In his rush to answer the door, he forgot that he was only clad in boxers and some old Radiohead t-shirt. "I'll get on that," he grumbled.

"What's that anyway?" the blond pointed at the writing on the shirt, slipping off his shoes.

"You can't be serious?" _Everyone knew who Radiohead was!_

"What?" Marik replied innocently.

"It's a band!" Bakura abruptly turned around to walk out of his entrance and into the living room. Everything was pristine as always.

"Wow," he heard Marik say behind him.

"I borrowed that book for O.C.D.," he replied, no sense in hiding it.

"I can tell."

"What about you?" his curiosity was piqued. Marik didn't seem to have any problems. If anything, he was confident to a fault.

"Not O.C.D."

The blond's avoidance intrigued Bakura further. A part of him was now craving the answer. A bigger part of him was craving his coffee.

"I'll be right back," he informed his inconvenient guest. Once in his bedroom, he put on his glasses and re-entered the world of clear vision. They were simple, rectangular black frames. The kind that most people had nowadays. For pants, he pulled on the jeans he wore yesterday. There was no use in bothering with his hair or changing his shirt; his O.C.D. didn't influence his appearance as much as his material possessions. He was laziest on Sundays, the day he couldn't give any fucks.

When he walked back into the living room, he found Marik sitting on his couch. The first thing he noticed was his cigarette pack, no longer aligned with the coffee table's edge; it had been moved.

In a few short strides, he was in front of Marik straightening the position of said pack. "Don't touch my stuff," he scolded the blond. It was better to stop bad habits now before Marik got into more of his things.

"Fine, I won't ruin your _precious arrangements,_" the blond rolled his eyes.

Bakura took the time to properly look down at his _problem_ since he first walked through the door. The young man had a backpack with him. Black socks, black pants, black shirt. All fitted. He would look like a goth if it weren't for the casual nature of his clothing and the shockingly blond hair against his tanned skin. _Even if he did have eyeliner on...more than yesterday._ For a faint second, he saw a glint of gold where earrings would be before settling on lavender eyes that stared back into his own, unreadable.

He had finally found someone more exotic looking than himself.

"Well now you look cute, so I guess it makes up for it."

The blond snapped him out of his thoughts. He parted his lips to answer, but only found painful silence. _Was this really happening to him!?_

Marik on the other hand, didn't look perturbed in the slightest.

"Are you...are you hitting on me?" Bakura finally asked, too confused to let it slide.

"What? No! I just like your glasses, geez. I'm not gay," Marik convincingly replied.

_Still a really weird way to compliment someone_. The older one was content with dropping it for now. "I'm going to make coffee. Do you want some?" he offered.

"Yeah, thanks," Marik smiled.

The first time he'd ever seen the blond smiling.

"Come with me," he gestured towards the kitchen, not quite trusting to leave the blond alone and not sure of what he liked in his coffee.

Marik obediently followed him and leaned against the counter watching Bakura fill the coffee maker with water, then ground coffee.

After pressing the button, Bakura placed identical red mugs on his spotless counter top. "Do you take sugar or?"

The blond gently shook his head. "Just black."

Another answer that surprised Bakura and unwillingly enticed him. He poured a small amount of milk into the bottom of his mug before joining Marik against the counter.

Both watched the slow drip as a rich aroma filled the air.

"So where are you from?" he had been wondering since their first meeting.

"Egypt."

"Oh...but what about your origins?" Bakura couldn't think of a better way to word it. He was certain he was speaking to an American.

Marik tilted his head and a small frown graced his features. "Egypt," he repeated in a peculiar tone.

_It almost sounded defensive_.

_Okay, so maybe the tan was his natural skin tone_. "You bleach your hair then?"

The frown on Marik's face deepened. "No it's my real hair colour!"

"A naturally blond Egyptian?" the disbelief seeped into his voice.

"Says the guy with snow white hair!"

"...sorry...you must admit it's not common," he tried to alleviate the situation.

"Hmph."

"I actually thought you were American based on your accent," Bakura offered as an explanation to his ignorance and offensive remark.

"My English tutor was from America," Marik replied.

Bakura knew it was a disaster waiting to happen but he couldn't keep his mouth shut. "Are your eyes real?" he ventured.

This time Marik's expression deadpanned. "Yes. I have blond hair and lavender eyes. They are completely natural and I am Egyptian born from generations of Egyptians as far back as it goes. Is _your hair_ even real?" the younger one challenged.

"Yes, my hair is real," Bakura deflated, embarrassed that his curiosity overtook his common sense. _He just had to know_.

He averted his eyes back to the machine and waited for the remaining drops to fall before filling their cups with black gold. He stirred his coffee and quickly rinsed the spoon before placing it in the dishwasher. He hated to leave dirty dishes in the sink. Bakura yawned before facing the young man again.

Marik was looking at him with a rather nonchalant smile, apparently already moving past his faux pas.

"So, what brings you to London?" he asked, taking his cup and making his way back to the living room.

Marik followed his lead and seated himself on the couch next to Bakura before answering. "Many reasons. My therapist thought a change of scenery would be good for me. My sister figured I should use the occasion to attend school as well. I'm attending university for history and psychology. Mostly history though because my sister wants me to join her as a curator. Plus, Egypt isn't exactly known for its mental health advancements. My family figured I would get better help here."

"Help for?" Bakura's quest for the answer was turning into a fixation.

The blond grimaced.

_Oh, he fucked up again._

"I really don't want to talk about it."

"It's alright," he shrugged and hastily changed the subject. "You're a student and work part time?"

"Yeah, also my sister's idea. You know, responsibility and stuff."

"How long have you been here?"

"Almost a year."

He wanted to ask more, but this was the wanker that owed him money. He wasn't supposed to be interested, or nice. _What am I doing?_

"What do you do?" the blond suddenly spoke up.

Those lavender eyes always seemed to be observing him with a sort of detachment. It almost made him feel like an experiment.

"I'm a paralegal for a corporation. Mostly, I assist the lawyers with their lawsuits, but during slower periods I update contract drafts to meet the new legal standards and such. You know, tell my bosses about the new regulations we're supposed to follow. Sometimes they listen. Basically, I do a lot of research and paperwork," Bakura attempted to briefly describe his job.

"Sounds boring," was the dry reply he received.

"Why, thank you, Marik. You have such a way with words," he nearly rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee. Soon he would be awake and they would get this over with.

"Hey, I know what could make this more interesting," the blond spoke, a more animated smile crossing his lips.

Bakura was suspicious. "Hmm?" he arched an eyebrow in question.

"Well, seeing as I'm going out of my way to deal with _your_ problem, I should get compensation when you're inevitably proven wrong," Marik smirked.

"Don't be so sure," he sneered.

"Once you are proven wrong, it will be obvious how much of a waste of _my time_ it was. I think you should owe me...as gratitude. But just to make you feel better about it, like there's a chance you're right, let's turn it into a bet."

"Are you patronizing me?" Bakura replied affronted.

"Just trying not to hurt your feelings-"

"Bloody prat!"

"Rude. Anyway, we should make a bet where if you're wrong you buy me dinner and drinks-"

"Like a date?" Bakura cut in. _So he was hitting on me earlier? _

"No! Not like a date! I already told you I'm not gay."

"Right," he was not convinced in the slightest at this point.

"Whatever," the blond replied, no longer bothering with defending his apparent gayness.

"And if I'm right you pay the fee _and_ buy me dinner and drinks?" Bakura asked, wanting to clarify this ridiculous wager.

"Precisely."

"Fine. Now hurry up and finish your coffee so we can get this over with."

"Doesn't take much to irritate you, does it?" Marik spoke amused.

Bakura merely glared back at the man.

He finished his cup rather quickly, but Marik continued to stare him down, taking his sweet time. The Egyptian seemed to be enjoyable himself a little too much; everything about his position and slow movements showed that he was at ease.

_Anxiety my ass. Why did he even need that book?_

He, on the other hand, felt uncomfortable under the scrutinizing stare _and he was in his own flat! _Uncharacteristically, he found himself reaching for his cigarettes. _It was so early too... _

Bakura took a relaxing exhale before crossing his arms and legs, making himself as snug and closed off as possible in his corner of the couch.

"You know that will give you wrinkles," the blond commented.

"Sod off."

"Your loss," Marik shrugged.

"Why do you even care?" he asked, tapping some ash into its designated tray.

"I don't, but you should. You have a nice face."

_Again with the odd compliments! _"Stop doing that!"

"Doing what?" Marik seemed perplexed, taking a sip of his coffee.

"That...that...those weird compliment things you've been saying! You're not supposed to be doing that!"

"I can do whatever I want."

"We hate each other!"

"...I don't hate you."

"...well you should."

"...whatever, Bakura. You're not worth hating," the ever nonchalant blond replied.

A normal person would be glad, but it still managed to strike a nerve with the white haired man. "I am worth hating. I am worth..._something,_" he muttered and exhaled the smoke through his nose.

"You look like a dragon when you do that."

_What the fuck is up with this kid?_

"Will you fucking stop saying things to me!" Bakura yelled, more exasperated than the situation required.

"Okay, okay. Chill. I don't understand what your problem is anyway," Marik shook his head, obviously thinking Bakura was a lost cause.

_Maybe he was..._

"Look, I'm sorry. You woke me up ahead of time; I'm not entirely myself right now. I don't even smoke this early. And you're really fucking strange, okay?" Bakura rubbed his temple with his free hand, hoping to soothe his mind as he softly explained himself to Marik.

"Just because I said you were hot you think I'm strange? I have no problem giving out compliments unlike a certain someone."

"Am I supposed to compliment you?"

"You're crazy if you haven't yet," the blond shot him a mischievous smile, leaving Bakura confused as to whether he was serious or joking about that...or both.

"You also said I was cute and reminded you of a dragon," he muttered, trying to make his reaction sound reasonable.

"And that you have a nice face," Marik added.

"And that I have a nice- okay, are you hitting on me or not?"

"Not at all," the Egyptian replied in the most ambiguous tone and expression ever.

_I give up_.

"Finished your coffee?" he asked, snuffing out the least enjoyable fag he had in his life.

Marik held out his empty cup, and Bakura took it to rinse out and place in the dishwasher along with his own. He returned to the living room to find Marik perusing his bookshelves. "What are you doing?"

"Just looking."

"Good. Don't touch anything," Bakura warned.

"Well, how can I find that book you lost if I'm not allowed to move things around?"

"What you see on the shelf is exactly what is there. You have no reason to move it. _And_, I didn't lose it."

"Yeah, whatever. What if you hid it behind this row of books?" the blond feigned innocence in his taunt.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Says the guy who stalked me."

"I DID NOT STALK YOU! DON'T TOUCH MY STUFF!" he yelled.

"But Bakura, the deal was that I should feel satisfied with our search," the blond smirked.

Bakura wanted so badly to smack him, but instead he found himself running a hand through his hair in frustration. He took a deep breath and ignored his craving for another cigarette so early. "Please refrain yourself from unnecessarily moving things," he spoke slowly and forcefully, struggling to remain calm. _Why did he ever fucking agree to this?_

"I will try my best," Marik replied the least convincingly possible.

The blond went about touching everything on the shelves he possibly could.

A few items moved in the process, only very slightly, but still Bakura saw them and it was all he could see. He stood near the couch, clenching his fists as he resisted the urge to run over and fix it right away. At least, not until Marik was done with that area. "You're doing it on purpose," he spoke through gritted teeth as he glared at the back of the blond's head.

"Am not. Stop looking at my ass."

"Wha-_what!?_ I am NOT looking at your ass!" Bakura flustered.

He felt like he was going to have a headache. Everything felt off to him. His things were being touched and misplaced, and he wanted to rip Marik's head off with his pseudo-seductions_ or whatever the fuck he was playing at._

_Deep breaths, deep breaths. Slowly. Calm yourself Bakura._

Marik paid no attention to him, but attempted to leave the most subtly disordered bookshelf possible. He even went as far as to put a Blu-ray case with the books.

"You are Satan himself, aren't you?" Bakura asked, mentally snapping at Marik's _arrangements_.

"For you, I could be anything," Marik laughed, enjoying himself too much.

"What the hell is that even supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly that. I could be mean or I could be nice, all depends on you," the blond casually replied.

Bakura couldn't be bothered any longer to try and figure the Egyptian out. He began rearranging everything that Marik messed up as the blond continued to search beside him. He was very tempted to drop a book on Marik when he examined the lower shelves, but he managed to resist that urge.

What felt like an exhausting infinity to Bakura's anxieties regarding his bookshelves finally ended. Adjusting the last row of things, Bakura looked over to see Marik peering behind his TV.

"Why the hell would it be there?" Bakura asked, more confused than frustrated.

"Maybe it fell or you hid it," Marik shrugged.

_What a twat. _

He observed the blond looking around his living room, searching for something else to wreck.

Suddenly, Marik dropped to the floor to look under his couch.

"You won't find anything there," he scoffed.

"Except for a dust bunny-"

"_What!?_" he interrupted incredulously. _He was so fucking clean! There was no way..._

Barely on his own knees to check, Bakura knew he had been had for Marik began laughing. His suspicions were confirmed when he found nothing beneath his couch.

_He's making fun of my O.C.D. _

"You're such a wanker," Bakura pouted as he stood up.

"Aww Bakura," Marik faked regret, placing a hand on his arm.

The white haired man slapped it away. "Don't touch me," he hissed, a sour look on his face.

"Oh come on, don't be so cross. It was only a joke," the blond tried to amend.

Bakura continued to frown, crossing his arms. "Why did you need that book anyway?"

Immediately, the younger man's disposition changed to discomfort as his right hand grabbed onto his hanging left arm, and he looked down. A pitiful gesture. "I already told you, I don't want to talk about it."

Bakura sighed. He was dealing with the most sensitive insensitive prick ever. "You're exhausting, you know that?" he tried to lighten the situation, make some form of joke out of it, even throwing in a little smile.

"Why else do you think I'm in England? They sent me for a reason," Marik replied, confidence and indifference returning, but the words only depressed Bakura further.

_He was so bad with people..._

The silence stretched on for longer than he wanted to, leaving it to Marik to break it. "Don't start caring now Bakura. Apathy is better. I think we both know that," Marik smiled casually, his pompous attitude returning.

"Don't patronize me you pretentious twat," he bitterly replied, regardless of the truth in those words.

It did not deter the blond, who continued to smirk.

They were back on track.

"You're so petulant."

"Big words for a small mind."

"Hey!" Marik cried out, offended.

Bakura smirked. _They were back on track indeed._

"Let's finish your futile treasure hunt."

"Well, I was going to be nice and skip the kitchen, but I suppose we should be thorough," Marik drawled out dramatically.

Bakura shot him a murderous look in vain. He spent almost an hour tidying up the disaster that Marik purposely left in his wake. Said blond boy was watching him rearrange his kitchen _with that damn amused smile._

"Enjoying yourself?" the Egyptian teased.

"Just dandy," he replied, sarcasm leaking through his gritted teeth.

"You know, I quite like watching you suffer like this," the blond continued to taunt, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.

"I get the feeling that goes beyond sadism..."Bakura calmly countered, his back turned to the Egyptian as he painstakingly re-organised his cupboards.

"Come again?"

"You wish."

"...touché," Marik relented, a pout gracing his features.

It was oddly_...cute. No, endearing! Whatever... This wanker was rubbing off on him...that sounded wrong._ Bakura forced his mind to go blank before his thoughts got any stranger.

They continued their odd search throughout the rest of Bakura's flat. The bathroom was uneventful with only Marik commenting on how clean it was.

The bedroom was another story.

"What's up with your bed?" Marik asked.

"What do you mean?"

"It's not like the rest of your flawless place!"

"Oh...I just don't see a point in making it."

"You don't?" the blond replied shocked.

"It's one of my exceptions, okay? I like my bed to be messy!"Bakura poorly explained impatiently.

"You know, people believe that the state of your room represents the state of your mind."

"Something you learned in your psychology classes?" he retorted.

Marik merely shrugged, but continued speaking. "Just makes me wonder about you. Everything else is orderly, but your bed is wild. There must be something sexual to that," the blond smirked.

Bakura felt his eye twitch. _That bloody prat_.

"Too bad you'll never find out," he snapped back. He desperately wanted to change subjects; discussing his sexual prowess with an in-denial homosexual who was vaguely hitting on him was not his cup of tea.

"It _is_ too bad," the Egyptian lazily drawled, forever cryptic.

Bakura groaned and sat down on his bed, rubbing his forehead in irritation. He took a deep breath before speaking. "You start searching. I'm going to have another fag. And please, try not to mess everything up _too_ much."

He reached into the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a pack of cigarettes that he kept there for random occasions like this one. Inside the half empty pack was a lighter, which he used to promptly start his wonderfully calming bad habit. Bakura relaxed as the smoke slowly consumed him. He pulled a tissue out of the box and spread it out on the small table, using it as a makeshift ash tray.

He felt the bed dip as Marik sat next to him. He glanced over out of the corner of his eye, noting that the blond seemed spaced out, maybe taking a break of his own.

The silence spread until the cigarette had burnt halfway, when Marik chose to speak. "This is tiring."

"You're one to talk," he muttered.

"I'm going to be nice and skip going through all your clothing."

"Oh goody," Bakura couldn't contain his sarcasm, albeit happy to not have to spend an hour fixing that too.

"Yeah, I figured you weren't insane enough to go to that extent for hiding a book," Marik admitted.

"So you chose to torture me instead. You're such a nice chap," he spoke dryly.

"And win a free meal out of it," the Egyptian nearly sang with smugness.

"And here I thought there were no good people left in the world."

Bakura brought the fag to his mouth, delicately resting it between his lips, and took a sharp inhale, holding it. _He should have just paid the damn fee and avoided all of this._

"I'll do one quick look over of this room, and the other for consistency's sake. Then we'll be done here. Alright?" Marik offered.

Bakura exhaled slowly. "Just in time for lunch," he observed placidly. _Smoking was always so soothing..._

"Yeah, I'm actually pretty hungry."

"Let's go eat something," Bakura suddenly declared.

Marik visibly perked up at that. "Like, you're going to cook?" the Egyptian tilted his head in curiosity.

"Well, I could do that..." Bakura was decent in the kitchen.

"I am a vegetarian by the way," the blond warned him.

"Of course you are," he replied, stopping himself from rolling his eyes. _Predictable._

"What's that supposed to mean?" Marik frowned.

"Nothing," Bakura shook his head. Seeing as the only remotely vegetarian thing he ever made was salad, cooking was no longer an option. He decided to go with his original and easier course. "We're going out...er, I mean, we're going to eat out."

"Where?"

"Some place near. You pick. My treat," he was too late to stop the last words from escaping his mouth. _What in the world possessed him to say that?_

Marik smiled brightly. "You don't have to, but thanks!"

"It's nothing...really," he mumbled, looking away to finish his cigarette in peace.

Marik stood up and looked around his bedroom. "Might as well get this done," he explained, although this time he barely touched anything.

Bakura took a final drag before snuffing out his fag and balling up the tissue to discard in the kitchen bin.

Marik followed him out of the room, evidently satisfied with his pseudo-search. "Should we get that last room done quickly? Cause I need to head out after lunch for my project," the blond asked.

"Of course," Bakura nodded, glad to have his flat's inspection almost completed.

Marik appeared to be unimpressed with the small room.

On the desk were multiple files and a small pile of neatly stacked law books. There was also a chair, a lamp, a printer, and some boxes housing the random items that Bakura wasn't quite sure what to do with. He considered it storage.

The Egyptian barely glanced at the room, immediately heading for the desk, curiosity piqued by the folders.

The moment he picked one up Bakura was at his side slamming it back down. "You can't look at those! They're legal cases," he scolded.

Marik pouted in a very weak attempt to convince him otherwise.

"They are the property of my employer and cannot be seen by anyone who isn't directly involved. Not only is it compromising, but also illegal for you to read. So don't touch," he warned sternly.

"Fine," Marik whined.

"Don't take it so badly," Bakura smiled, his turn to be condescending.

"I'm done with this room anyway," the blond tried to dismiss, crossing his arms.

"Let's go eat, Marik," he draped an arm around the younger one's shoulders, steering him out of the room.

The Egyptian seemed to relax under the touch, no longer sulky at being denied his whims. "Are you really going out like that? At least comb your hair," was the haughty suggestion of Marik Ishtar as they exited the room.

Too drained to get angry, Bakura merely sighed loudly, dropping his hand from Marik's shoulder, and marched to his bedroom. He found the hair elastic he used yesterday and quickly tied up his hair. He figured everything else about him was presentable for Marik. _Not that he cared...he just didn't want him bitching anymore. _

He returned to the living room to find Marik picking up his bag. The Egyptian gave him a peculiar expression, unreadable, causing the white haired man to feel a little self-conscious as he grabbed his own essential items, stuffing them in his pockets.

He was about to go put on his shoes when Marik stopped him, having other plans for him instead. "Try this with your hair down," the blond held out a black slouchy beanie.

Bakura obliged, pulling out the hair elastic and putting on the hat, effectively hiding his bedhead.

"That goes much better with your outfit," Marik commented with a contended smile.

"I'm pretty sure I look like a wanker right now," he replied.

Marik frowned. "No, you look nice. I like your hair down. Now let's go!" the blond declared, pushing Bakura towards the door.

_How was this kid so convincing?_


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh

I would like to apologise in advance, but FF formatting is not my friend. Originally, the texting parts did not have a space in between each line. Each "text" was its own block of text and looked cleaner. FF won't allow me to do this and took away the single spacing option. (Also, the texting part isn't entirely grammatically correct considering most people don't bother with punctuation and such when replying in a hurry. So, it was done on purpose.)

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, faved, followed, and read!

Miss Macabre Grey: It was bound to happen (and probably will again), thanks for pointing it out. It has been corrected. Thank you for the lovely review too!

(Just in case someone doesn't understand the reference in this chapter, Mick Jagger is the singer of The Rolling Stones and they have this popular song called _(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction_.)

Enjoy~

* * *

Bakura was sitting at a small table, across from Marik, shifting in his seat and doing everything in his power to not reach over and rearrange the Egyptian's napkin and unused utensils. Naturally, he had already straightened out his own.

The blond had picked an Indian restaurant and was currently eating chickpea curry. He had chosen the tandoori chicken.

In between bites, they kept up light conversation, delving further into their lives.

"So, is the woman you live with your girlfriend?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"No, she's my roommate. I've been living with her since I moved to London. A student too," Marik answered, mixing the curry with rice before taking another mouthful.

Bakura nodded in response, and then remembered another detail he should probably address. "By the way, there is no contest. I made it up."

The blond looked up from his plate. A mixture of recognition, shock and distaste flickered across his face. "You dick! Well, _now_ I definitely won't feel bad about getting wasted on your tab when I win the bet," he replied calmly with a vindictive bite.

Bakura merely smirked, expecting this sort of reaction from the rather feisty Egyptian when he wasn't being calculating...

"Jagger is that you?" a voice called out.

_Oh bugger._

A middle aged man and woman approached their table, both dressed on the casual side. The man wore a mischievous smirk.

"It _is_ you! God, you look young. I almost mistook you for some hooligan," the man heartily laughed at his own joke.

"Ha. You know, _I am_ 24. So technically, I'm on the younger side," he replied blankly.

"What!? You are?" the man exclaimed in surprise.

"Oh, don't worry George. I'll be 25 soon," the smallest hint of sarcasm sneaked into his speech.

George turned to the woman accompanying him, "I've been working with him for over a year and I had no idea he was that young." His gaze returned to Bakura, "I thought you were closer to 28, Jagger. And you wear glasses too?"

_You've got to be kidding me..._

"George, I've worn glasses to work half the time. You seriously never noticed? And stop calling me that," he replied begrudgingly.

"You know, when you get to my age you don't notice all the details quite as well. Maybe I'll need glasses too," his co-worker smiled before, unfortunately, adding, "but Jagger rolls off the tongue so nicely."

The white haired man shot him a venomous look.

"You just _can't get no satisfaction_, huh?" George looked please with his own perceived cleverness, and the woman laughed.

Bakura groaned at the painfully annoying _humour_.

"This is my wife, by the way, Helen," George introduced the woman who reached out to shake hands.

"_Please_, call me Bakura," he replied, taking her hand.

He looked over to the confused Egyptian who had been quietly observing the exchange. "This is my friend, Marik," he politely contributed.

The blond and the couple exchanged brief pleasantries.

"Well, we better be on our way and let you finish your meal in peace," George finally said.

"It was nice meeting you boys," Helen added.

"Nice meeting you too," Bakura and Marik replied, nearly in unison.

"See you at the office tomorrow," his co-worker said.

The couple waved and departed from the restaurant.

Bakura turned to see Marik's questioning face. "One of my superiors at work," he filled in.

"He's very..."

"Annoying?" Bakura answered.

"I was going to say friendly."

"He's good-natured, but tiring," he explained.

"You don't get along with very many people, do you?" the Egyptian suddenly asked, amusement in his voice.

"Hey! I have some work friends. Just not George. And outside of work friends, obviously."

"_Really?_"

"Yes, I _do_ actually," he replied, unimpressed.

"You said I was your friend earlier," Marik continued, his amused smile turning into a smirk.

"How else was I supposed to introduce you? Guy I have some fucked up bet with?"

Marik shrugged, looking bored with their exchange.

"Maybe if you're less of a wanker, then we could be..._acquaintances_," he felt compelled to admit.

"Whatever you tell yourself, Bakura," the blond smiled knowingly.

* * *

"How was your weekend, Bakura?" the receptionist asked.

Bakura stood by her desk, early Monday morning, sipping his coffee like he usually did. She, Natalie, was actually one of the few work friends he mentioned having to the disbelieving Egyptian.

She was organising stacks of papers on her desk, brown hair pulled back into a bun, as she conversed with him.

It was their daily ritual.

"Awful. I have this..." _How in the world would he explain the bet with Marik? Little less, not sound like a total O.C.D. lunatic. They knew of his clean desk, but have thus far been oblivious to all his other anxious habits...and rather vindictive personality. _He caught himself, "I'm helping some wanker move and it's taking much longer than expected. Plus, I saw George yesterday."

She gave a sympathetic look at the news. "Have you heard from your brother yet?"

"Oh yeah. He's arrived safely. Won't be back until the end of the month. How was your weekend, Nat?"

"Went to a party with Declan, got into an argument _again_, and now we're broken up," she shrugged.

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I mean it this time, Bakura! I am not getting back together with him. Not anymore," she replied resolutely.

Glancing at the clock, he realised there was only 10 minutes left until work time officially began, and even fewer minutes until George typically arrived. "Hate to cut this short, but I'm going to hide."

"Lucky bastard," the receptionist replied, not looking forward to her morning greetings with the overbearing man. Unlike Bakura, she _had_ to interact with everyone in the office throughout her work day.

Sitting down at his desk, he ran a hand through his hair and yawned; another dissatisfying sleep leading to an exhaustive morning.

He pressed the start up button for his computer and waited, taking sips of his caffeine fix, scanning his desk for any misplaced item that could be..._organised._

He was suddenly jerked out of his daze by his beeping mobile.

Reaching into his pocket with a sigh, he was surprised at its source. Marik.

**[WANKER:**

**Hey**

**Are you free Wednesday for the search?]**

**[REPLY:**

**Yeah I can do then.**

He paused for a moment, before deciding to add more.

**Why are you up so early?]**

**[SEND]**

He seldom woke up early unless he had class during his student days...

A prompt beep notified him of a response.

**[WANKER:**

**It's not that early. I have an appointment.] **

Bakura wanted to know more, but decided against it, placing his mobile on his desk.

* * *

Bakura sat in his sleep clothes, a cup of spiced plum rooibos tea next to his laptop on his coffee table. Forever wanting to improve his sleep, he avoided caffeinated beverages at night.

He told himself for the millionth time that he wasn't being a stalker as he searched Facebook for Marik Ishtar.

_This is perfectly normal_._ Yup._

The only sounds heard were the tapping of arrow keys with occasional typing...until the tell tale sound of Facebook chat pulled him out of his reveries.

_Oh fuck me_. He had forgotten to appear offline again. Rolling his eyes, he typed up a very half-assed excuse about just heading off to bed before promptly turning off the chat feature.

_Why do I even have this bloody thing? Who are all these people anyway?_

His own profile was rather sparse, and existed solely from his younger days when everyone was into this online friend building harem. After many requests, he finally caved and made one, appeasing the masses.

_Okay, now to find you, Marik Ishtar-_

This time his mobile produced the beep.

**[WANKER:**

**Hey**

**Sorry, but I need to change plans again. **

**Something came up, Thursday alright?]**

**[REPLY:**

**Sure. What time?]**

**[SEND]**

**[WANKER:**

**I only have afternoon classes that day. **

**The last one ends at 4. After that?]**

He thought it over for a minute. _It could take hours..._

With a sigh, he typed.

**[REPLY:**

**I guess I can come straight from work.**

**I finish at 5.]**

**[SEND]**

**[WANKER:**

**Where do you work again?]**

_Why the hell does that matter?_

**[REPLY:**

**I work in Kaiba Corp Plaza.**

**You know it?]**

**[SEND]**

**[WANKER:**

**Yeah, it's kinda on the way.**

**I could meet you there.]**

He frowned.

**[REPLY:**

**I know the way.**

**You don't have to.]**

**[SEND]**

**[WANKER:**

**That's cause you're a stalker.**

**I don't mind.]**

_I am not a stalker!_

He glanced over to his screen, pages of _Marik_s, and _Ishtar_s, and sometimes even _Marik Ishtar_s greeted his eyes.

He quickly logged out of his account and ended his ridiculous search for Marik's profile.

_It wasn't stalking! Everyone does it...sometimes. Natural curiosity._

In his bid to reassure himself against his losing battle, he had forgotten to reply. A beep notified him of a new text.

**[WANKER:**

**Don't start pouting. **

**It was a joke...that held a lot of truth.]**

**[REPLY:**

**Sod off Marik.**

**I was distracted for a moment.]**

**[SEND]**

**[WANKER:**

**By what?**

**I'm nowhere near.]**

How painfully true the irony of his reply was.

**[REPLY:**

**You're not that hot you wanker.]**

**[SEND]**

He absentmindedly took a sip of his tea, successfully distracted by this sudden texting banter.

**[WANKER:**

**Then what was more important than me?]**

He snorted at the very unsurprisingly cocky reply.

**[REPLY:**

**You're so humble. **

**Internet.]**

**[SEND]**

**[WANKER:**

**I never found the internet to be that interesting.]**

This response was intriguing to Bakura for it meant the possibility of two things.

One: Marik may have more depth than he had assumed.

Two: He probably didn't have a Facebook profile after all.

**[REPLY:**

**Humour me. **

**What better things should I be doing with my time?]**

**[SEND]**

**[WANKER:**

**Me.]**

He choked on his tea, nearly causing a mess.

**[REPLY:**

**Wtf Marik!?]**

**[SEND]**

**[WANKER:**

**Your face must have been priceless.]**

**[REPLY:**

**Goodnight you twat]**

**[SEND]**

**[WANKER:**

**Goodnight Jagger :)]**

**[REPLY:**

**Go fuck yourself]**

**[SEND]**

* * *

_Is he...or is he not..._-"Bakura!"

He snapped out of his haze, cigarette perched between fingers. Natalie had been talking to him.

"What's with you today?" she shook her head, clearly unimpressed.

"Sorry, a lot on my mind." It was a rather lame, semi-truthful excuse.

"As I was saying, because _you_ asked, no I did not return any of Declan's calls or attempts at rekindling our doomed relationship. I meant it this time; we are _done_." She brought her own fag to her mouth, taking a deep drag.

They were on their smoke break, like every other person outside in the small business plaza at this time.

"That's good. You're better off without him," he agreed, automatically inhaling his own cancer stick.

"So, what's on your mind?" the brunette attempted to get out of him.

_Should he tell her? Tell her a...edited version?_

"It's nothing. Just...when someone jokingly hits on you, like someone you'd never expect to be interested in you, and they do it rather consistently...is it still a joke deep down?" he tried to vaguely explain, ineffectively.

"Um, I don't know. Are you both still teenagers?" she smirked. He laughed at that, feeling foolish for even contemplating taking Marik seriously.

* * *

**[WANKER:**

**Are you wearing a navy blazer today?]**

Bakura's eyes widened at the text.

_What the fuck!?_

He spun around, confirming that the Tube station was completely devoid of Marik Ishtar.

**[REPLY:**

**Where the fuck are you?]**

**[SEND]**

**[WANKER:**

**On the tube that just passed your stop.]**

**[REPLY:**

**And you saw me?]**

**[SEND]**

**[WANKER:**

**Big white hair is hard to miss.]**

**[REPLY:**

**So is this revenge?**

**Are you stalking me now?]**

**[SEND]**

He smirked, feeling clever, finally able to turn that accusation against Marik.

**[WANKER:**

**Totally. Tonight I'll be looking through your window.]**

He frowned, his words clearly not having the effect he'd expected.

**[REPLY:**

**Just my luck that I get a wanker for a stalker.]**

**[SEND]**

**[WANKER:**

**Hey at least I'm a good looking stalker.]**

**[REPLY:**

**You keep telling yourself that.]**

**[SEND]**

* * *

_His lungs burned as he was running through a forest, fear suffocating him, too afraid to look behind. It could have been anywhere. He didn't want to assume he was safe..._

He blindly reached for his mobile, desperately wanting to turn off the alarm.

Another bad dream, another bittersweet sleep, another exhausting morning, another boring day of drafting that preliminary report...

There was a text waiting for him.

Upon seeing the name, a small smirk appeared on his lips, unnoticed by himself.

Somehow, his fatigue just got a little more bearable.

**[WANKER:**

**Dream of me?]**

A tired laugh threatened to escape his mouth.

**[REPLY:**

**You're way too full of yourself.]**

**[SEND]**

**[WANKER:**

**Well, you know, I was stalking you all night.**

**Looked like quite the dream, so naturally I thought it would involve me.]**

He rolled his eyes._  
_

**[REPLY:**

**Actually you were in my dream. I think I was running away from you.**

**You can be such a scary thing.]**

**[SEND]**

**[WANKER:**

**Well I dreamt of you.**

**You were in my room searching for your book.**

**I thought it was real until I realised that wasn't until tomorrow.]**

He was intrigued by this, but suspicious from experience with this twat.

**[REPLY:**

**That's it? I wasn't doing anything else?]**

**[SEND]**

**[WANKER:**

**You kept rearranging my stuff.]**

**[REPLY:**

**Ha. Very funny.]**

**[SEND]**


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh

xXAnachronIsmEpsIceXx: Don't worry about it, I have a bad habit of forgetting to review as well. I'm glad you like the non-canon characters (some will be important later). Thank you so much for the wonderful review!

Guest: Marik is coming on strong, but how genuine is it? I hope you like the outcome of this fic. Thank you for the review!

And of course, thank you to everyone who faved, followed, read and left lovely reviews! I appreciate it c:

(To avoid potential confusion: pissed means drunk in British slang.)

Enjoy~

* * *

Bakura had been staring at his computer for the last 15 minutes, completely zoned out.

_Just a little longer until he could leave..._

He noticed that the tiny letters on the screen began to blur as the pixels scintillated in a pattern reminiscent to static. He usually only saw this visual defect at night. In the dark. Not on a brightly lit screen.

He was done for today.

_Fuck it._

He turned off his computer and packed up early.

Bakura patted down his pockets and triple checked the contents of his messenger bag. Quickly, he slid his chair beneath his desk, making sure it was perfectly squared to it, and proceeded to leave the office.

In the lift, his mind mulled over his evening plans with Marik as he re-adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, trying to get the hem to rest at the exact same spot on his wrists. His search for equilibrium was rather...ridiculous at times. It was absurd most of the time if he was being honest with himself. Still, he couldn't help it, especially if he was alone in the lift. No need to hide it, just an urge to appease.

The moment he stepped outside, he looked around the small plaza. Not far from where he stood, Marik was reclined on a bench. The blond gave a small wave when he saw Bakura approach him.

The Egyptian wore black pants similar to their last meeting and a fitted dark purple long sleeved shirt. An obnoxiously bright yellow pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses hid the blond's eyes. The same dark backpack was on the bench, next to him.

"You're looking sharp," Marik smiled from his seated position, catching the paralegal off guard. Simple fitted black suit, a white collared shirt, and a black tie was what he wore. Possibly the safest office wear combination.

"Oh, ah, thanks."

"Seriously, suits look good on you," the blond said as he stood up. "Ready?"

"In a few seconds," the white haired man replied, already fishing out his pack of fags and lighter.

Marik waited patiently as Bakura calmly lit up.

Internally, it was a different matter.

For the trillionth time, Bakura was forced to wonder just how genuine the Egyptian's mind games were. His doubts were reinforced by the blond's rather _happy_ disposition.

_Was he actually pleased with seeing me? Or is he always like this..._

After taking a sharp inhale, he nodded his head in the direction of the Tube station, indicating that they should start walking.

In that moment, the stark differences appeared to Bakura.

He was a man in a suit, older only by a few years, but at a different stage in his life altogether. The person beside him was young, a fresh faced student, in some ways, a kid even. And this kid took a penchant to him, he thinks. He wasn't exactly sure what to call it, but they somehow got along with each other on basic levels, possibly beyond that. In fact, he never really noticed, until this moment, how different they actually were. _Didn't that mean they weren't really different at all? At least, not where it mattered..._

Despite all the obvious similarities and contrasts, there was one mysterious aspect that continued to taunt him: the book. _Why did Marik have it? Why was he so reluctant to talk about his mental problems?_

Embarrassingly enough, he had to admit, his main concern for Marik's so called mind games wasn't whether the blond was genuinely hitting on him. What really kept him up at night was whether the blond actually found him to be...attractive. Those moments in their conversations seemed to be truthful.

_Not that it mattered, but it was always nice to have one attractive person call you the same..._

He could not deny that the Egyptian was good looking. He didn't want him in _that_ sense, and could barely stand him, but he couldn't deny the physical appeal of the person walking next to him.

_And that person had referred to him as cute. _

_Okay, maybe there was a bit more than physical appeal._ Marik held another kind of appeal. He was rather intriguing; he had a unique charm about him, and remained a mystery. This may have been the only reason Bakura stuck around with someone _he could barely stand._ Marik Ishtar was interesting.

"You're quiet," the blond commented, pulling Bakura out of his reveries.

"Sorry, I was thinking about stuff," he replied.

Marik shrugged. "How was work?" his companion casually asked.

The white haired man took another drag of his cigarette before answering. "Same as always, boring. Long. Drab. Et cetera. You?"

"We had a short test today."

"On?"

"The Roman Empire. It went well."

"That's good." He felt at ease navigating through the sidewalks of London with the apparently relaxed Marik. Everything about the Egyptian was casual, from his speech to his mannerism, even his style. He always seemed to be able to keep his cool unlike Bakura who was high strung to a fault.

"How old are you anyway?" the paralegal asked, unable to restrain himself. He had been wondering for a while.

"I'm 21. I'll be 22 in December," Marik replied to a rather surprised Bakura.

"When in December?"

"The 23rd. Why?" the student raised a questioning eyebrow, just visible above his sunglasses' rim.

"Coincidentally, my birthday is on the 21st of December," he explained.

"Weird," Marik commented, his tone noticeably brighter.

"Yeah, very weird," Bakura smiled.

* * *

"Well, this is my place. I know it's not up to _your _cleaning standards, but try not to have a heart attack," Marik announced as they stepped through the door.

The white haired man glanced around.

The Egyptian was right; it wasn't up to _his_ standards. To a normal person's expectations, it was clean. A little disorganised, but clean. Cozy. It was definitely a student's abode. From what he could see in the living room, it was strewn with random posters, mismatched furniture, and a few empty liquor bottles were in the recycling bin by the door.

"Would you believe me if I told you I wasn't always this bad?" Bakura asked lightly.

Marik gave him a curious expression. "What happened?"

"I suppose you could say I sobered up."

There was a long pause before the blond spoke again. "You were an alcoholic?" Marik's surprise to the possibility was evident.

Bakura frowned. "What? No-"

"A drug addict?" the blond cut in, concern lacing his voice.

"I wasn't a junkie!" he nearly yelled, insulted.

"You made it sound like it was...oh come on, you look like one."

"Like what?" he narrowed his eyes.

"A heroin addict," the student bluntly answered.

"Excuse me!?"

"Pale, thin, dark circles under your eyes," Marik explained.

"It's because I don't get much sleep!_ And,_ I believe it's called heroin chic," he grumbled.

"Heroin what?" the Egyptian tilted his head in confusion.

"You know, Kate Moss? That look models had where they...never mind it's a thing from the 90s," Bakura waved a dismissive hand.

"So please explain to me what this _sobering up_ entails?"

"Well, when I was younger, I was more carefree. I mean, it was a lot easier to suppress when you came home drunk from a party. The messy bedroom didn't matter as much then."

"I don't really follow," the blond gave him a sceptical look.

He sighed, readying himself to attempt a proper explanation. "My O.C.D. wasn't always this bad, and it didn't focus on cleanliness originally. It started off as a few minor things, like..." he thought of examples for a few moments. "Making sure the marmalade lid was screwed on tightly or checking the locks. Very small instances," he continued. "But, as I got older I began to notice my behaviour, and I realised something was off. In some cruel twist of fate, by recognizing it I actually became more anxious. I found myself thinking about it at awkward times. Like, when I was hanging out with my mates; I was too mentally preoccupied with lining up the bloody books in a shelf instead of enjoying myself. It became a hindrance."

Marik nodded in acknowledgement before bending down to pick up the cat that had presented itself in that moment.

"Your cat?" he asked.

"No, my roommate's. Go on," Marik replied while petting the animal.

"So, when I was a teenager, I did the typical young and stupid bullshit. You know, drank, went out, sometimes experimented. When you're intoxicated, you don't think about any of that O.C.D. crap; you're too lazy, pissed or fucked up to care. It was an escape I guess," he shrugged. "I didn't do it for that purpose though. I was doing it for fun. It just so happened to work out in my anxieties' favour. Basically, it didn't really have an opportunity to develop. Eventually I finished school and got a career. Partying was cut down by a lot." The paralegal ran a hand through his hair casually before carrying on. "I didn't have as much time or the tolerance for it anymore. I naturally_ sobered up_ with age."

"It worsened after that?" Marik remained expressionless.

For a brief second Bakura wondered if he was being analyzed. _I wouldn't put it past a psychology student. _

"Yeah, it sort of blew up with nothing to distract me. I didn't have anything numbing my urges. I couldn't stop myself anymore. When you live on your own, you have no reason to keep up social pretenses. You only need to appear normal outside your flat. That's how I got to this point."

"Does it only manifest in cleaning?" the blond questioned. The cat shifted and Marik put it down on the floor.

"No, it comes down to feeling...at ease? Feeling like everything is in its proper place in the universe," he clarified. "A lot of repetition to reassure myself in random things. My mind can turn any minute detail into hyperboles. For example, sometimes at work I check a document right after saving it just to make sure it worked. Then, I check again to make sure my eyes weren't deceiving me the first time, or for the off chance that the computer was suddenly possessed and erased it on its own. I'll probably check a third time too for the same reasons. Appeasing your anxieties trumps rationality," he laughed nervously in a vain attempt to comfort himself. _I'm not insane._

Bakura felt something rub against his ankle. He cast his eyes downwards, greeted by the cat's black and white face looking up at him.

_I'm not going to pet you. _

"I see," Marik replied with what could have been sympathy in his features.

"Yeah," Bakura shrugged, feeling a little vulnerable for candidly revealing so much about his internal struggles.

"So, this experimenting...what are we talking about here? Heroin?" Marik smirked, instantly shifting the mood.

Bakura wanted to punch him.

"No. I'd never touch the stuff," he glared at the smiling bastard.

"You were a lot more social back then too I gathered?"

"Well, it is easier to be around wankers when you're not all there. Maybe I should drink when I'm with you," he shot back, smirking.

"You being less obsessive-compulsive in the past, believable, but I would have never guessed that you would be some sort of...deviant party animal," Marik spoke, ignoring the jab.

"I wasn't some _party animal_," he spat.

"So you were the calm, cool, collected guy smoking in the corner?" Marik tried.

_Is he trying to figure me out? _

"Yes, actually. Except, the calmness was only external," he confirmed, cautious.

"I see. You were _that_ guy," the Egyptian declared.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he retorted, suspicious of Marik's intent.

"You tricked everyone into thinking you were an enigma. People gravitated towards you, desperate to get inside your brain, but too afraid to actually touch. You were kind of a cool kid, except without having to undergo the typical behaviour that you happened to hate. The title was thrust upon you," the blond stated.

"I never saw it that way," he quietly replied, slightly dismayed.

"Of course you didn't. Otherwise, your laissez-faire attitude would be inauthentic. Plus, you were too busy dealing with your own issues to really notice," Marik inferred.

Bakura crossed his arms, not confirming or denying Marik's keen observational skills.

"I'm good in psychology, huh?" the student grinned smugly.

"I wouldn't consider it psychology," he muttered, not amused.

Marik, on the other hand, was content with their exchange and changed subjects. "Alright, let's get started on this. My roommate's bedroom is off limits. It's the one closest to the bathroom. Understood?"

"Yes."

* * *

Bakura's eyes were currently scanning Marik's desk in his bedroom. The room was neat enough, not terribly disorganised. The furnishings and bedding were on the darker end of the colour spectrum, consisting of blacks and deep purples. Some Ancient Egyptian artifacts adorned his shelves. _Or maybe they were replicas? _

A deck of cards caught his eye. They appeared to be different from normal playing cards.

"What's this?" he asked.

Marik looked up from his bed where he was reading a textbook. His eyes lazily followed the direction Bakura was indicating before settling on said object.

"Oh, that? It's some game called Duel Monsters."

"Is it any good?"

"I don't know. I could never figure out the rules. They made no sense," the blond shrugged.

"Hmm," the white haired man nodded.

He returned to browsing the desk's surface. The distinct orange colour of a prescription container caught his eye. In the corner, a pill bottle filled with white tablets enticed him. Foolishly, he reached for it. The pills shook against its plastic encasement as he attempted to read the label.

_A-..ari-_

A tan hand aggressively snatched the bottle from him.

"DON'T LOOK AT THAT!" Marik shouted. The Egyptian looked alarmed and murderous, like an animal in distress, the most dangerous kind.

Bakura had never seen him lose his control until this moment.

"I-I'm sorry," he apologised, unnerved by the sudden outburst.

_Ari...ari...something z...what the hell was Marik hiding?_

Gradually, the blond's glare softened and he sighed. "It's alright," Marik yielded, "Just...don't look at something like _that _anymore!"

"I won't," Bakura agreed.

Marik nodded, a tiredness in his eyes became evident for the first time to Bakura. The blond resumed his studying position and the paralegal continued his search.

With each passing moment, Bakura began to doubt his theory; Marik didn't have the book. He would continue for the sake of thoroughness and confirmation.

There was a framed picture near the spot where he found the ill-fated pills.

A tall man, teenage girl and what appeared to be a young Marik smiled in the photograph.

"Is this your family?" Bakura asked. He heard the blond shuffle behind him.

"Yeah, that's my brother and sister."

"I guess you resemble your sister...why aren't they blond too?" he remarked.

"Odion, my brother, is adopted. Ishizu looks like our mother. I take more from my father's side."

"I see," he replied, finding this information interesting.

"Do you have any siblings?" Marik asked with a smile.

_Yes, a brother and sister just like you._

"I have a brother," his voice remained neutral.

"Younger or older?"

"Younger."

His mobile suddenly beeped. He fished it out of his pocket, eyes widening upon seeing the name.

_Eerie._

**[RYOU:**

**Did you water the plants?]**

**[REPLY:**

**Of course why do you always doubt me?]**

**[SEND]**

He wrote back despite actually having forgotten. _Damn Ryou._

Marik tilted his head in curiosity.

He was about to respond when Ryou promptly replied with a second notifying beep.

**[RYOU:**

**You're not very apt at keeping things alive.]**

He frowned, the word choice bothering him.

**[REPLY:**

**You'll never let me live down that goldfish!]**

**[SEND]**

**[RYOU:**

**I kept him alive for over a year until that week I left him with you!]**

**[REPLY:**

**That was nearly 10 years ago!]**

**[SEND]**

He pressed the button with a huff.

"Everything alright?" the student asked.

"Yeah," he sighed in defeat.

* * *

Marik was grinning triumphantly, an expectant look in his eyes.

"So Bakura, what did you find? That's right, nothing!" the Egyptian gloated.

"Yeah...well...shut up," he mumbled the last part incoherently.

The blond threw an arm around his shoulders, giving him a playful squeeze. "Looks like I'm getting a dinner and drinks courtesy of your wallet," Marik continued to rub in.

He groaned, delicately peeling the arm off of him with distaste. "When did you want to get this over with?" he asked, irritated.

"You make it sound like you don't _want_ to have dinner with me, but I know you enjoy my company deep down," the Egyptian smirked.

"Not with that attitude," he replied dryly.

"Let's go tomorrow! I'm free after my afternoon..._appointment,_" Marik ignored him, carefully choosing his last word.

Bakura raised an eyebrow questioningly; the hesitance never slipping passed him. "Fine, pick the place and we'll meet there at 7."

* * *

He unlocked the door to Ryou's flat and flicked on the light. A warm and cozy living area lit up, tidy, but not as extreme as himself. It was very much to his brother's taste.

He found a small watering can and instructions on the coffee table.

He was already late with two of the more _complex_ plants.

_It was just like Ryou to grow some mini exotic garden._

It took him around 5 minutes to water all the plants. Luckily for him, the ones he neglected didn't seem to be in bad shape.

Before heading back to his own flat, he noticed something in Ryou's living room. On a shelf was a photograph similar to Marik's. A child version of himself, Ryou, and living Amane at the beach near their home in Paignton smiled back at him.

A dreadful feeling stirred inside of him.

_I can't believe Ryou kept this._

Bakura couldn't understand why his brother would want such a stinging reminder of better days.

He needed to head home and clean.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh

13579Marik: I was purposely vague about the medicine because it will be revealed later... Thank you for the review, I'm glad you like it!

Thank you to everyone who faved, followed, read and reviewed!

(So I finally realised that commas are required in sentences involving dialogue. I don't know how I missed it all these years and no one told me D: I pretty much had an existential crisis over it, and corrected all past chapters of this subtle grammar flaw. Ah, the ESL life.

Also, excuse the shitty "drunk talk". I couldn't think of any other way to type it.)

I created an ArchiveOfOurOwn account as a back up for this fic and future fics because I am fully aware of the risk of this fic being deleted for its kid unfriendly content (which ff is known to have done in the past). It's under the same fic and author name. The link is on my profile page.

Enjoy!

* * *

"_Bakura!" _

_His head shot around, looking desperately for the source of that cry, that plea._

_It was a crowded street, and he knew he was losing her fast in the sea of people._

_For a flickering moment, he thought he saw her being tugged away by a dark figure. Out of his reach._

_He ran, breathless._

_And suddenly, he was no longer in the city, but in an unknown forest. _

_He felt frantic and anxious. _

_Where the hell was Ryou!? Why wasn't he helping him!?_

_He started running again; if he didn't he would lose. It was the only way. Spending too much time in one place was bad. _

_He had one job. Only one job and he lost her!_

_Out of the corner of his eye, a nervous rabbit always remained. So close, but completely unattainable. Any time he tried to catch it, it would hop away. _

The alarm woke him with a jolt. He nearly smashed the screen for the snooze button.

Lying in his bed, Bakura was forced to remember his most prominent nightmare.

Disjointed and nonsensical in nature, it did nothing to erase her influence.

_Why did they always have to feel so real?_

He buried himself deeper in his blankets. He was certain he looked haggard.

_Fuck, this always happened!_

It was easier when he was numb.

* * *

It was like he was in another world, floating, floating, _floating..._

_Jagger?_

_Jagger?_

_Where's that report?_

_Jagger?_

He blinked, confused, his eyes falling on the man that stood beside him.

"I...I was spaced out," was his feeble excuse.

"Luckily, it's Friday, right?" his co-worker smiled.

"Yeah," he agreed, shuffling the papers on his desk until he found the right one.

"Any plans tonight?" the man asked.

"Just dinner and drinks. You?" he replied, keeping up formalities in the workplace. He handed over a small stack of papers.

"Going out to the pub. Thanks a lot, I'll give this back to you on Monday. Alright?"

"Alright."

As soon as the man left, he sighed.

_How would he survive tonight with Marik?_

* * *

"Yes, I'll have another," Marik answered the questioning waiter.

"Are you sure? That's your third glass," Bakura pointed at the empty dishware.

"Four won't kill me."

"That's what you said about three," the white haired man frowned.

Marik shrugged before picking at the remainder of his spinach gnocchi.

"Are you done, sir?" the waiter asked Bakura.

"I'm done. Thanks," he answered, full from eating most of his plate.

"Could I interest you in some dessert?" the waiter dutifully offered.

"Oh yeah!" Marik interjected, becoming increasingly boisterous.

"I shall return with the menu and your drink."

Marik slowly took a final bite from his plate before pushing it away in defeat. A glazed expression softened his eyes as they turned onto the paralegal.

"How does it feel...to lose?" the Egyptian smirked.

"You're drunk."

"No, I'm not." The blond's speech was light and careful, bordering on slurring.

"You will be very soon."

"I only had three drinks."

"You had three Tom Collins in a row." Irritation was beginning to seep into the older man's dry replies.

"They're pretty good."

"I know, I'm the one who recommended it to you."

"Why aren't you drinking anymore?" Marik cocked an eyebrow. Paired with his expression, he looked positively seductive.

"Because someone has to take care of your pissed ass," Bakura hissed.

"Don't be like that, _Bakura_," the blond said, putting emphasis on his name.

Marik's attention switched to the glass placed before him, the waiter handing them both a dessert menu.

"I think I'll have the tiramisu," the student mused.

Bakura made an annoyed sound in acknowledgement.

* * *

The blond hung heavy at his side, leaning into him with all his weight.

"I can...wa-walk my-self," the plastered Egyptian slurred.

Bakura rolled his eyes. "Don't be dim." He was more frustrated by having to take care of the man than the large bill he paid.

"I lov-ve when you talk Brit-ish to mee."

"What?" he asked indignantly, nearly dragging the man to the waiting cab.

"You use a-alllllll the Brit-ishh words," Marik replied, lazily leaning into Bakura.

He gave up on making sense of the man, and shoved him into the cab.

"Hey! No-not so rough," the student yelped.

"Was it really necessary for you to have _seven_ drinks?" he scolded as he sat himself in the cab.

"I told you I'm not pisssssed."

"You're completely pissed."

"Where to?" the cab driver piped in.

Bakura gave his address, attempting to ignore the incoherent slurs of the blond beside him. Marik was too drunk to go anywhere on his own; he figured he should probably bring the student home with him and make sure he doesn't die.

As they neared the apartment building, Marik suddenly fell quiet. He appeared to be staring out the window, blankly.

The paralegal thought nothing of it, finding peace in the first silent moment of their night.

Marik finally turned his attention towards him when the cab stopped.

Bakura felt a bit unnerved by the dead eyes scowling at him, arms crossed tightly to the blond's chest, as he paid the fare.

Upon exiting the cab, Bakura realised Marik continued to give him the same glare.

"Why do you keep staring at me like that?" he finally ventured.

"Who the fuck are you?" was the surprisingly blunt and coherent reply from Marik.

_Had he lost his mind?_

"Don't be an idiot, Marik. I'm tired and you're pissed. You can sleep on the sofa," he replied.

The Egyptian tensed, taking a few dangerous steps and trying hard not to sway, before stumbling into the older man's arms.

"Stop being a wanker and just cooperate with me, okay?"

The blond groaned and fumbled in his attempt to push him away.

Bakura rolled his eyes, "Oh for fuck's sake."

"I'll get you...for this...later," the Egyptian managed to get out.

Bakura chose to ignore the mumbling of his strangely inebriated companion, who currently depended on him for support. He more or less dragged the student into the building, until they reached his sofa where he unceremoniously let the dead weight crumple.

"My head," Marik moaned, making no effort to move into a more comfortable position. His voice retained that rather unfriendly edge, but it no longer seemed to hold any violent intent towards the white haired man.

"It's your own fault for drinking too much. I warned you," Bakura spoke unsympathetically.

"I wasn't drinking with _you_!" the blond replied disdainfully, sounding a little vicious when he referred to the older man.

"You know, you behave really oddly when you're pissed. Well, more than usual," he smirked, crossing his arms.

"Go fuck yourself!" Marik shot back.

"I _was_ going to be nice and get you water and some aspirin, but you can suffer instead. Goodnight, Marik, and don't throw up on my couch."

Bakura left the Egyptian in the living room, fed up with the malicious attitude. He was too tired to deal with the angry drunk.

* * *

"Bakuraaa," a voice whined.

Something gently shook him.

He woke up dazed, his vision blurred.

Turning over, he saw the faint outline of Marik against the scintillating darkness. It was hard to tell what kind of expression he held.

_Friend or foe?_

"Did you throw up in my living room?" was the first logical question that came to mind.

"What? No. I just woke up there. I don't remember anything."

The paralegal sighed and turned on the small table light.

Marik looked sickly, pale for a person with a darker complexion, mostly he looked confused.

"I'll get you water," Bakura gave in.

Marik followed him to the kitchen, questions in queue: "What happened? When did I pass out?"

"You didn't pass out."

Silence.

"Wha...what did I do?" the blond asked carefully.

Bakura filled a glass with water before handing it over.

"You became silent in the cab, then malevolent."

"Malevolent how?" Those lavender eyes already looked guarded and apologetic, glass tensely clenched in his hand.

"You told me to go fuck myself and tried to push me. Oh, and you also didn't know who I was apparently," Bakura listed off, no longer caring enough to hold it against a kid who can't hold his liquor.

Marik drank some of his water, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, I...I don't know what got into me. I don't remember any of it," he said, trying to assuage his past actions.

"Whatever, I don't really care," Bakura shrugged, "just don't get that pissed around me anymore."

"Agreed," Marik exhaled, closing his eyes. He almost seemed to deflate.

"How's your head you wanker?" Bakura smiled.

Marik gave him a brief sour look, "Awful."

"I'll get you something for it."

He walked to the bathroom, aware that Marik was following behind him.

His medicine cabinet was underwhelming at best, filled with the essentials and a small collection of pills for headaches, something he was prone to.

Opting for the aspirin, he turned around to find Marik gone.

He dropped his arm, the pills shaking within the plastic container, frowning in confusing.

_Where is that wanker..._

Purple caught his eye when he walked by his bedroom.

The student was sitting on his bed.

"What are you doing?" Bakura asked a tad defensive, clutching the bottle in his hand.

"I'm not sleeping on the sofa. My head hurts too much." The blond's eyes were closed as he pressed his fingers against his temples.

"Do you really think you're in a position to make that kind of demand?" he cocked an eyebrow, anger boiling within.

"I'm sleeping here. Your bed is big enough, and if you have a problem, move me yourself." With those words, the Egyptian ungracefully flopped onto his side.

Bakura swore he felt his eye twitch.

He threw the aspirin bottle, hitting the student's arm. "For you," he spoke, ignoring Marik's annoyed protests.

The white haired man took the last unhappy steps to _his side of the bed_.

"That was unnecessary!" the student whined as he unscrewed the cap.

Bakura paid no mind to him, instead forming a makeshift wall of pillows between himself and Marik. When the blond noticed, he rolled his eyes at him. _Actually rolled his eyes at him!_

"I liked you better when you were passed out," the paralegal muttered, pulling the sheets over himself and turning off the light.

He heard the Egyptian settling beside him, a little too close to the pillow border.

An unfamiliar and unpleasant sense of anxiety filled Bakura's insides; Marik was way too close to him. Sleeping beside him. Breathing beside him. Moving beside him. Waking up to him. In the same room. It was something he was never supposed to experience.

He wasn't prepared for this.

"You don't like sharing beds do you?" the voice spoke beside him, cutting through darkness in all its rasp.

"I don't like sleeping in the same room as other people," he replied, truthfully.

"Why not?"

"I just don't like it. I already have a hard time falling asleep, when someone else is around it makes it that much more difficult."

"You don't trust people much."

"I know."

Silence filled the air for a very long minute. _Maybe Marik was done._

Of course, that would be too easy.

"How does that work in relationships?"

He felt the blond move, he could have sworn he was shifting closer, but peering into the darkness didn't prove much. He couldn't distinguish Marik's form from the pillows.

"It doesn't."

"So?"

"So, I would stay awake until they fell asleep. Then it would take another hour or two until I fell asleep."

"Is that what you're going to do tonight?"

"Yes," he continued to reply honestly. He felt too drained to bother keeping up his front.

"You have a sleeping disorder."

"I know."

"For how long?" Genuine concern washed away the curious apathy in the student's voice.

"For as long as I could remember."

"And you've just lived your whole life like this?"

"I've lived with a lot of things my whole life."

"You're a sad person, Bakura."

"Go the fuck to sleep, Marik."

"I mean it," the Egyptian replied, propping himself up on his elbow to look down on Bakura, a looming shadow.

"You act as if I have Asperger's or something," he tried to brush off Marik's concern, maybe to show how ridiculous he was being. _God, it's only O.C.D. and insomnia._

"You might."

"I know what social cues are, Marik, for fuck's sake!" he snapped, annoyed with the blond's imposed psychoanalysis.

"I was joking, Bakura. Joking. I know you don't have Asperger's. You're just a dick."

"People like you give me reason to be."

The shadow lowered itself, hair splaying on _the pillow_, crossing the boundary. Fingertips momentarily brushed against the material covering his shoulder.

_Get the fuck away. _

Bakura shifted towards the edge, _in his own bed._

"What else did you live with your whole life?"

The Egyptian was asking too many questions. _Why is he so interested in me? _

"If you tell me something about your life, then I will too."

"My mother died giving birth to me," Marik replied, too casual for comfort. Factually.

The paralegal tensed at the rather blunt information. He was not expecting something so heavy, yet the blond remained unaffected. _Maybe he still had some alcohol in him?_

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's okay. It's hard to miss something you never knew, but it would have been nice anyway."

He felt the blond shrug, the shadows blending too much for him to see the action.

"My mother died too, when I was seven. An accident. My brother, Ryou, had just turned six." _Amane was four. _

And then he started talking.

"Father was away a lot, and that didn't change after the...accident. So, I had to step up and be big brother. Ryou was better at that though. As the years went on, he sort of took on the mature, responsible role. I was just trying to keep it together, especially in the first few years of being shuffled amongst live-in sitters. I never adjusted."

Once he had finished, he realised just how much he divulged. Just like the last time when Marik had asked him questions about his O.C.D. tendencies.

He would just space out and talk. It scared him, _the complete lack of control._

Still, his brain filled with more dangerous thoughts: Amane. All he could think about was Amane. He wanted to talk about Amane. He could never allow himself to talk about Amane. _It was forbidden. _

_Das ist verboten. _

_The only sentence he ever found useful from his long gone German classes. So much was verboten. _

"Bakura?" Marik gently shook him.

He, none too gently, pushed him away, annoyed, mostly at himself and his stupid reactions.

"I'm sorry. I won't ask any more questions tonight," the blond sounded genuinely concerned.

"I'm not your personal case study, you know!" Bakura spat back accusingly. He felt extremely vulnerable, betrayed, and angry; very uncomfortable with where this situation had taken them. His own bed wasn't even safe.

_Fucking wanker._

"I know. You're not," Marik reassured. He held sadness in his voice that made no sense to Bakura for him to have.

Suddenly, a hand soothingly stroked his hair. He kept his mouth shut.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh

SincerelyChristina: It's mostly explained in this chapter, but yes, it's linked to what we saw in Battle City. Thank you for the review!

Thank you to everyone who faved, followed, read and reviewed!

I suppose as a mini warning: Do not take the M rating lightly. The upcoming chapters (aka the next one and others) are only going to get better (or worse depending on what you're like.) Just throwing that out there.

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter~

* * *

He slowly opened his eyes. To his relief, he couldn't remember any dreams.

Looking down, he saw a tan arm slung across his chest.

_...what?_

To his right, blond hair obscured most of his vision. Marik was sleeping far too close, the pillow barrier gone.

Delicately, he lifted the arm off his chest and pushed Marik away from him.

The student barely stirred, not even noticing his change in position.

Bakura inhaled a steady breath, trying to make sense of his situation.

He was in bed. With Marik, who was piss drunk last night. And then Marik stroked his hair...and got..._clingy_. Evidently.

He was no longer certain whether he should feel uncomfortable or not. His current predicament was definitely a strange one.

Even after pushing Marik, he couldn't see his face in the pillow.

_Could he even breathe like that?_

For a brief second, the paralegal wondered if he was dead. His fingers gently enclosed around the Egyptian's warm wrist, feeling that life-confirming pulse.

"What are you doing?" Marik mumbled from the pillow, startling the older man.

"Just making sure you're not dead," he replied, the sad truth. His hand instantly released Marik's wrist.

"Do you always bring drunk men home and secretly feel them up in the morning?" the blond feebly teased, trying to get a rise out of him with cheap jabs.

"No, just you," Bakura admitted calmly, no longer wanting to argue.

Marik remained silent after that answer.

Bakura continued to stare at his ceiling. A small smile appeared when he remembered something.

"Do you really like it when all people 'talk British', as you say, or just me?"

"Just you," Marik answered more lighthearted.

"I'm amazed you remember that part of the evening."

"I remember everything except the getting here part."

"You were worse than usual," he filled in.

Marik finally moved, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at Bakura. "You like me enough to deal with it."

Bakura neither confirmed nor denied. Instead, he stared at the mussed blond hair framing piercing lavender eyes. His face remained expressionless.

Not seeming bothered by it, Marik reached over him, and took his glasses. Like a child, he tried them on for a moment, failing to see anything, and removed them. "You're blind," he declared.

"I'm not_ that_ blind. I'm only nearsighted."

"Am I too far to see then?"

"No, I can see everything fine. It only means the details are blurred from afar."

The blond smirked. "So am I still blurry?"

"Somewhat," Bakura answered, aware that details would be crisper if he had corrective lenses.

Marik leaned forward by a few inches. "Still blurry?"

He was a foot away now, but Marik was a little too far for him to see properly. "Closer."

The gap shrunk by a few more inches. The dark grey outer-ring of the iris becoming visible, contrasting with lavender. The individual strands of hair were falling over those eyes. "Now?"

"Almost."

The blond gave him a curious look before approaching him further, quite close to his face. "Still?"

_Closer._

Lips were pressing and eyes were closing. For a short moment, suspended in time, it was soft and sweet, an almost dreamlike experience. Until the weight of reality set in.

_What had he done. _

He broke away, mumbling a quick apology and averting his eyes.

Despite his flirtatious nature, Marik appeared to be a little surprised by the action.

"Don't be sorry," the blond finally spoke.

Before he could even think any further, Marik was on top of him, tongue gliding along his bottom lip. His reaction was automatic, a hand burying itself in blond hair, the other wrapping around his waist.

Hurried and hungry, it was a sharp contrast to the kiss moments ago.

And then, they woke from the dream. Eyes opening, slightly alarmed, they stopped.

"This is a bad idea," the Egyptian spoke.

"Yeah."

"We shouldn't be doing this."

"Yeah."

They believed it.

Awkwardly, Marik slipped off Bakura, lying down beside him in silence.

"I thought you weren't gay," the paralegal finally said blankly.

"I thought you weren't either," the blond retorted, less aggressive than his previous denials.

"I never...we never discussed it. I mean, not that I was. I didn't think I was. The point is, I never lead you to believe anything in relation to that and you never asked!" Bakura rambled.

"Just to set the record straight, you kissed me, alright? We're both aware that you are the one to blame for this..._incident_."

"So flinging yourself across me when I was asleep was _my_ doing too?" Bakura abruptly lifted himself to glare at Marik.

"We...we won't talk about it anymore. Deal?" the Egyptian sighed.

"I don't know. Our last deal ended like this."

"Just fucking do it."

"Fine."

"Pass me your phone, please? I think mine is in the living room, and I need to call in sick for work."

"You mean hungover because you're a dumb cunt," Bakura replied handing over his mobile.

"Oh fuck off. What's your password?" Marik spat back.

"You're going to have to ask nicely."

"I'm not sucking your dick."

"Wow, Marik. Where did that come from? I only meant a '_please_' would suffice. It's 'post blue' all in one word."

He could hear Marik tapping away on the screen.

"Why that? What's it supposed to mea-OH MY GOD YOU NAMED ME WANKER IN YOUR PHONE!?" the student yelled, clearly not amused.

"Yeah, because you are one."

"You're such an ass, and what's this 'post blue' shit about?"

"It's a song title."

"A song about what?"

He rubbed his hands over his face, mumbling between his fingers, "Heroin."

"Are you sure you're not a junkie?"

"Positive. Now, call your work."

He listened to Marik fake a cough as he spoke to his manager before getting his mobile back.

"I should get back to my place to shower...and die a little inside," the blond said casually.

"I remember those days."

"Your junkie days?" Marik grinned.

"Get out."

"I'll see you later old man."

Marik got out of bed fully dressed, and after a brief search for his mobile in the living room, he was gone.

Bakura sighed in relief. Automatically, he went to check his phone, discovering that his password was no longer working.

_That fucker changed it!_

* * *

Bakura sat on the sofa in Marik's flat.

Gemma, Marik's roommate, had kindly let him in to wait for the wanker to get home from his trip to...wherever he went. She didn't know herself.

The dark haired woman walked into the room holding a cup of tea for him.

"Thanks," he said as he took it.

"No problem. I'm waiting for Marik to reply. I sent him a text."

"Thanks a lot. Sorry for showing up unannounced," he politely replied.

She shook her head. "It's alright. He shouldn't be too long. He probably went to the shop down the road."

The cat sauntered into the room, observing him for a moment. Bakura followed it with his eyes as it entered Marik's bedroom.

Noticing this, Gemma said, "You know, Marik hates it when others go into his room when he's not around. Maybe you could wait in there?"

"_I like you_," Bakura replied at her devious suggestion. He almost wished she had stolen that library book instead.

She smirked. "I'll be doing some readings in my room if you need anything. Try not to touch his stuff _too_ much."

As she was turning to leave, Bakura stopped her with a question: "What did he do to you?" There must have been something encouraging her to exact revenge on her roommate.

"He ate my entire jar of nutella," she answered bitterly, leaving the room.

He took a sip of tea and hesitated for a moment before entering Marik's bedroom. Should he really be doing this?

_Yes._

Slowly, he walked into the room. The cat was napping on Marik's desk chair. Everything else was as Bakura remembered, except for some clothes strewn on the floor. The clothes Marik had worn last night to be exact.

Like a shining beacon in the distance, that mysterious yellow prescription bottle stood out amongst everything, merely sitting on a shelf.

He placed his cup on the desk and went for it. Nothing stood in his way; he was going to get answers _today._

Quickly, in fear that Marik may show up at any moment, he grabbed it and began to read.

_Rx: 37259071_

_Ishtar, Marik._

_Take 2 tablets every night by mouth._

_Aripiprazole. 30 mg. _

_Qty: 50_

_Sutherland, J. M.D._

_2 Refills remaining._

_Keep out of reach of children._

On the side of the bottle was a bright orange warning sticker: _If mixing with alcohol, discuss with your physician. _

If only his mobile would unlock, then he could search exactly what this medication was. He was more intrigued by the implied side effects of alcohol; _could that be why Marik was such a huge fucking twat last night? _

He heard the front door open. In a rush, he put the bottle back and sat on the edge of the blond's bed. He attempted to look calm and crossed his arms.

Obliviously, Marik entered the room with a shopping bag in hand. After a double-take, his face contorted into a glare.

"_Why_ are you in here?"

"Gemma let me in. What's my mobile's password?"

"You'll have to figure it out," the student said, smirking challengingly.

"Why did you even change it?" he ventured, his own expression turning into a scowl.

"Because you named me wanker in your phone," Marik simply replied. Calmly, he emptied his shopping bag as if Bakura wasn't even there.

Bakura stood up, irritated with the entire situation. In very few steps, he had Marik backed up against the wall.

Marik continued to look mildly bored.

"What's the aripiprazole for Marik?"

Suddenly, the Egyptian looked unnerved, panic in his eyes.

"Let's talk about you," Bakura prodded smugly.

Marik shoved him away roughly and walked past him. He was looking out his window, fists clenched.

"Wanker. Your password is wanker," the student spoke, surprisingly quiet.

"I want to know. I want to know about you, Marik," he admitted, his voice taking on a more soothing tone.

"Trust me, you don't want to know anything about me. You'll never know," Marik warned him.

"It seems hardly fair that you get to learn all my secrets when I barely know any of yours."

"No, Bakura. I'm not telling you," the blond spoke sternly.

"Fine. Be that way."

"You don't understand-"

"How can I when-"

"Listen to me!" Marik snapped, finally facing him. "What if I did tell you? You wouldn't want to have anything to do with me. You'd spend all your time questioning me, my motives," he sighed.

"I already do."

"Sit down."

"Huh?"

"Just sit down," Marik said in a more commanding voice.

The white haired man crossed his arms in one last stand of defiance before sitting on the bed again.

"Do you promise you won't tell anyone?" the student sounded serious.

"We don't know the same people," he replied, rather disbelieving at the request.

"Just promise me."

"I promise," he relented.

"I take those pills as a mood stabilizer."

"Why do you need that?"

"You absolutely promise me you won't say a word...and this...won't change anything?" the blond anxiously asked.

"Marik, whatever you're about to tell me will probably only shed light on why you're such a fucking wanker, but regardless, and for some complete lack of sanity, I have yet to abandon you and probably won't after today. Even if you did mess with my mobile."

The student hesitated, seeming unconvinced.

"Marik, I fucking kissed you!" he said harshly, putting things into perspective.

"Alright. Okay. I'll tell you...just...let me..." He nudged the cat out of his chair, earning an unhappy meow. Taking a seat to face the paralegal, he rested his chin in his hands.

"So..." Marik began awkwardly, "I have this thing...well a few things. Let me restart that."

Bakura watched as he fidgeted in his seat.

"I swear it's not as bad as it sounds," the blond attempted.

"Just tell me."

"Okay," the Egyptian took a deep breath. "For reasons I absolutely _refuse_ to get into, I developed Dissociative Identity Disorder at a young age, which eventually led to Borderline Personality Disorder. Both those things come with their own bi-products, like, depression...and anxiety. The lines are kind of blurry between the Borderline and the D.I.D. but those are the main ones."

"I see. Care to explain more?" he asked carefully.

"Not really."

"Would you rather I find out through google?"

Marik narrowed his eyes, "Are you getting some sort of sick enjoyment out of this?"

"No!" Bakura replied, actually offended.

"This is really hard to explain. I don't entirely understand it myself. I only know what other people have told me. I'm officially diagnosed with D.I.D. I have a lot of memory blanks; my life is incomplete in my mind. Apparently, there's another person...personality inside of me, and I can't control it. I also have Borderline, and that's why I need the mood stabilizers, on top of the D.I.D., to prevent anything from happening. They say I'm histrionic too. According to my psychiatrist, my entire personality is based around these...diseases. I'm not even a real construct of myself, I go by these fucking impulses." Marik paused for a moment, clearly frustrated with his situation. "The histrionic is a subtype of this Borderline stuff, Impulsive Borderline they called it. All of this causes me to be really paranoid and anxious that shit will happen. So, that's why I need aripiprazole to answer your question."

"That was a little confusing," Bakura admitted. _I'm so googling this shit later._

Marik appeared to be irritated by that response and abruptly stood up. He went over to a shelf and pulled out an anonymous binder.

After flipping through some pages, he began to read aloud. "August 4th, 2001. Patient continues to be unaware of his violent side. Must approach the subject cautiously. Memories of past events continue to be compartmentalised, common defence mechanism of dissociation. Patient continues to complain about headaches. Signs of depression evident. Will attempt cognitive behavioural therapy."

Page flip.

"March 2nd, 2005. Patient has undergone psychiatric hold after a violent outburst. Patient does not remember outburst. Patient's guardian signed release. Patient shows co-morbid signs of B.P.D. Patient is unstable with a warped self-image. Patient continues to be dissociative but is now paranoid because of it. Patient mentions hearing voices. Patient is having difficulty maintaining inter-personal relationships."

Page flip.

"July 16th, 2009. Patient's dissociation is less frequent. Patient is showing positive signs on medication. Patient's social skills have improved. Patient has fallen into a pattern, prone to attention. Patient is inappropriately flirty but remains capricious. Patient may be developing impulsive and histrionic behaviour. Patient's mood continues to be unstable. Watch carefully patient's progression of B.P.D."

Marik looked up from his past records. "Want to hear more?"

"No...it's okay. I think I'm starting to get it," he answered.

Marik closed the binder, gravely, and slid it back in between books on the shelf.

"So, last night, you drank when you weren't supposed to and...you don't remember. So?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Alcohol can inhibit the medication slightly, but it's never been a huge issue before," the Egyptian said, shrugging.

"What do your records say now?"

"I don't get to see them. Technically, I'm not even supposed to have these, but I swiped them before moving to London on my final visit. My current psychiatrist tells me I have superficial relationships and don't connect well with people. Mostly, we work on dealing with my emotions and triggers."

"I see," he replied softly.

Marik's face fell at those words, but he tried to laugh it off. "Told you, you didn't want to hear this."

"I can understand your reluctance now... By the way, your roommate is pissed that you ate all of her nutella."

The student frowned, perplexed by the sudden change of topic. "What?"

"She's upset that you finished her jar."

"I know, she bitched at me about it," Marik replied, still confused.

"That's why she let me go in your room."

"Oh."

"I don't hate you, you know. Well, not over that. There are far worse things about you than that." He smirked.

"You're such an ass." A small smile appeared on Marik's lips as he shook his head.

An overwhelming urge filled Bakura, like it had earlier. Only this time, he was fully aware.

_This is a bad idea._

"I have to go," he muttered.

Marik cocked his head. "Really? Why?"

"I need to go...water my brother's plants. He's away. I have to do that," he came up with a semi-truthful excuse.

"I don't think the plants would care if you're a few hours late," Marik commented, sceptically.

_He's doubting him. He's thinking it has to do with him._

"Is it okay if I smoke?" he suddenly asked.

"O-okay," Marik replied, giving him an odd look.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the pack, and trying not to look too hurried. He just needed that soothing relief. _Maybe it would erase his thoughts... _

"You don't have to lie to me about leaving, you can go," Marik spoke softly, eyes averted to the window.

"No, Marik, that's not it..." sadness seeped into his voice.

The blond's gaze returned to his face, unreadable.

Marik stood from his chair before being abruptly yanked down. A rather girlish yelp escaped his mouth, muffled by a pair of lips.

_This is a really bad idea. _

Bakura's hand released the student's wrist. His arms wrapped themselves around the waist in front of him, against him. From lack of balance and no real warning, Marik had simply fallen into his lap, straddling him awkwardly.

_A really really bad idea._

He felt palms tense on his chest before relaxing against him. The initial shock seemed to be leaving the younger man.

_I'm lusting after a foreign student._

He felt a hand grip his thick hair as Marik began to react to him, tongues meeting.

_When the fuck did this happen?_

"You need to stop doing that," Marik whispered harshly in between kisses, making no real effort to break away.

Bakura pulled the body closer, nearly flush against his, and began trailing down the blond's neck, firmly marking his way.

"Don't fucking lie to me, you're at least bisexual," he spoke lowly, his lips ghosting against the Egyptian's neck.

"You don't want to get involved with me like this," was Marik's very weak protest. Hypocritically, he tilted his face down to crush their mouths together.

Bakura laughed lightly, half muffled by the kiss, until Marik cut him off completely by catching his tongue between his teeth.

He opened his eyes to see Marik staring at him darkly, challengingly. He felt the blond smirk as his tongue was released before suddenly being pushed down onto the bed.

For a brief moment, the Egyptian looked predatory, almost reminiscent of his drunken self, but he was snapped out of that daze by a cough.

Bakura dreadfully moved his eyes to the doorway where Gemma stood.

"Why are you always doing the most questionable shit when I walk into your room? Learn to close your door, Marik," she spoke, holding up a parcel. "A package just arrived for you. From your family, I'm guessing."

"You don't see anything questionable in this room," the student replied defiantly as he got off of Bakura, which was an impossibly conspicuous movement.

Ignoring his reply, Gemma commented, "I didn't know he was your..."

"There is nothing going on," Marik spat back, tone remaining even as he took the parcel.

Gemma didn't look like she believed him for one second.

"I'm still waiting for my nutella."

"You'll get it back tomorrow!"

"I better," she glared for a moment, getting her point across before leaving the room.

"See, this is why we shouldn't be doing anything. Things like _that_ happen," the blond addressed the paralegal arrogantly.

"If you really think nothing should happen then nothing will," Bakura replied as he sat up.

"Good."

"What are the other questionable things she caught you doing?" The amusement in his voice was evident.

"Weren't you going to water some plants?" the blond asked, avoiding his question entirely.

* * *

Bakura was in Ryou's flat, completing his bi-weekly chore.

Perched between his lips as he flipped through the channels was the fag he'd wanted to smoke for the past two hours.

_What Ryou doesn't know won't hurt him._

It had been a very strange day, which had yet to sink in properly.

_I'm attracted to Marik. Huh. _

Returning to his own flat felt too bizarre. While he stayed at Ryou's, he was in purgatory. Simple, no complications to crash down on him. Where Marik's madness and his own did not exist.

A football game.

The Jeremy Kyle show.

BBC One.

BBC Two.

BBC Three.

BBC Four.

BBC News.

_Why are there so many fucking BBCs._

Another football game.

The History Channel.

X-Factor.

Some other sad reality show.

With a sigh, he turned off the television.

He'd distract himself other ways.

Taking an extra deep inhale, he filled his lungs with toxic fumes and it felt wonderful.

_Why do I even like that wanker? _

He preoccupied himself with Ryou's little figurines on a table, taking care to arrange them neatly around the lamp while trying not to drop any ash on his furniture.

_What the fuck does Ryou even have that's remotely interesting? _

Swiftly, he got up to peruse the bookshelf. The framed childhood photo was already flipped down from his previous visits.

It was filled with more figurines and some academic books, which Bakura made sure to promptly arrange accordingly.

Surprisingly, amongst all these items was a photo album filled with memorabilia. Photos of their long forgotten mother. Photos of their ever absent father. Photos of their permanently dead sister.

As he flipped through the pages, expression blank and cigarette dying between his fingers, the fallen ash unnoticed, he found one of himself and Amane on his shoulders.

He fished it out of its plastic lining, almost scowling at such an innocent photo before pocketing it.

Absentmindedly, he closed the album, seeing enough for one day.

He'd rather go home and think about his potentially fluid sexuality than stay here.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh

13579Marik: I actually didn't have any ideas for this originally, but I'll include some snippets in later chapters. Thanks for the review!

1rosiestar1: Thank you so much! I did spend some time researching, so I'm glad it's turning out!

Thank you to everyone who read, faved, followed and reviewed! I seriously appreciate it c:

And now, the tumultuous "relationship" begins.

Enjoy~

* * *

"Jagger, there's a meeting in five minutes. Finish up what you were doing. Alright?" George advised the paralegal, poking his head in his office.

"Alright," he answered already bored out of his mind.

He needed more coffee first, but there was no time to run to the shop...

He locked his computer, slipping his mobile in his pocket and walked towards the break room where subpar caffeine awaited him.

Despite its tar-like taste, sweetening it would only make it more sickening.

It would have to do.

With great concentration as the liquid neared the edge of his cup, he tried to empty the pot until the leftover coffee aligned with the printed lines on its side. Otherwise, it would bother him.

"I love Mondays, don't you?" Natalie sarcastically spoke behind him.

He jolted at the intrusion, spilling some coffee in the process.

"I didn't mean to scare you," she quickly added.

"Do you know where they get this shit?" he asked her, reaching for some paper towel to clean up his mess.

"I don't deal with that. You'd have to speak to the office administrator, whoever they are," she shrugged. She was looking at the floor, fiddling with the scarf around her neck.

She almost looked..._guilty._

"You're back with him, aren't you?" he asked already knowing the answer.

"No I'm not. I...might have slept with him a little," she reluctantly admitted.

"Do you mean a little or a lot? Because I don't think you can sleep with someone a little."

"I know. I know. It was a really dumb decision. He was just at our mutual friend's party and I was there and things happened," she rambled off in an attempt to excuse her behaviour.

"Yes, things can..._happen_," he replied rather cryptically. It reminded him a little too much of his own misadventures...

"That's why I need to ask you a favour."

"Which is?" he sounded suspicious.

"Well, I need you to come to the pub with me this weekend. Same friends will be there, including Declan. You can stop me from making rash decisions."

"I'm not very good at stopping myself to be quite honest."

"Of course, no one can stop themselves, but they can stop others."

"Alright I'll go," he caved.

"Thanks! I owe you!" She hopped over to him, happier than she was a minute ago, and gave him a quick appreciative hug.

He stiffened at the contact, taken off guard, before patting her back.

"You do because I hate your friends."

"They're better than your friends," she teased.

"Hardly."

* * *

**[SEX GOD:**

**I'm waiting outside.]**

_Who the fuck is this!?_

It may have been Bakura's most confusing lift ride of his life. Until it clicked.

**[REPLY:**

**Marik stop changing things in my phone!]**

**[SEND]**

**[SEX GOD:**

**Took you long enough to notice.]**

The white haired man groaned, and promptly changed the contact name to simply _Marik_.

The boy in question was slouched on the same bench Bakura had found him on the previous week. He looked positively bored.

"A red tie today? So daring, Bakura," the blond commented.

Bakura merely rolled his eyes and routinely lit up.

"I see you have an affinity for purple," he observed, eyes flicking over the light grey jeans and aubergine cardigan that suited the student quite well.

"Always perceptive, Jagger."

By now, he had gotten used to the jabs from Marik; his usual reaction of glares had turned into half-hearted pouts.

The blond stood. He felt too close to the paralegal, or did he always stand at this distance and Bakura never noticed before?

The Egyptian slung his bag over his shoulder, the mischievous smirk ever present on his lips. "I was hoping you would help me out with something, and I'd treat you for it, naturally. It won't take long I swear."

He exhaled some smoke. "What is it?"

"Research Methodologies. You're good at that right? I mean, it's kind of a part of your job. Could you look over my plan? I have to hand it in tomorrow."

"I just need to look over it?"

The blond nodded.

"Fine, I'll do it."

* * *

Marik lay in his bed, reading a textbook.

Bakura sat at his desk. He had somehow been cajoled into editing a lengthy essay too.

_Fuck my life. _

Behind him, he could hear rustling and what distinctly sounded like a bag of crisps being ripped open. It was followed by the muted crunching of someone eating said crisps.

"Could you not do that?" he spoke up, annoyed.

"What?"

"It's distracting."

He heard more noise behind him, until he felt a hand slowly drift down the back of his hair.

He tensed at the touch, forcing himself to relax.

"Stop it," he muttered.

"Am I distracting you?" the blond asked as he placed both hands on Bakura's shoulders.

"Yes."

"Well, that's a shame, isn't it?" Marik sounded too amused.

"I'm starting to think you like Gemma catching you do weird things."

"What makes you say that?"

"Your door is open and she's right there."

"THANK YOU," the dark haired woman agreed with Bakura. Her seat on the sofa was within eyesight of Marik's room.

The blond frowned in irritation, immediately shutting his door. "Now, where was I?" he said, his confidence slightly unnerving Bakura.

_Was he serious?_

As much as he hated himself for it, a brief thought of Marik's apparently histrionic tendencies came to mind. Just as Marik predicted he would start to doubt.

He didn't have much time to think as Marik returned to his previous position. Except this time, the younger man was leaning his head on his shoulder and arms were wrapped around his chest.

"Was this your idea of treating me?" he ventured, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

"No, I was going to buy you something. This is simply for fun," the student replied. His hands moved to further loosen Bakura's tie, slipping it off completely.

"You said not to get involved." He tried to remain focused, the logical one questioning conflicting statements.

Marik started to work on unbuttoning his dress shirt. "This isn't involved."

"Do you want me to finish editing your essay or not?"

"I want you to do other things first," the blond whispered, barely audible, before pressing his lips to Bakura's neck.

"I feel taken advantage of," Bakura feigned hurt, suppressing the shiver that threatened to run up his spine from that wonderful sensation.

The blond laughed darkly against his neck, slipping out the last button. "I've been thinking about you since you were last here."

"Oh yeah?" he replied in a hiss, fingernails grazed his chest as Marik moved his hand lazily.

"Mhmm," the student hummed. "I thought about how desperate you seemed, and how much I liked the way you kissed me." He lifted a hand, index delicately running along Bakura's bottom lip. The man before him was entirely transfixed.

"Tell me, Bakura. Tell me how badly you want me. What would you do to me?" Marik spoke seductively, cupping Bakura's cheek and tilting his head to face him.

The white haired man could feel his blood growing hot as anticipation began to pool in his core.

"I want to cum on your face," he answered frankly.

He wanted to close the gap between them, but he was curious to see where Marik was going with this, and _if_ he would initiate.

"That's rather dirty for someone neat like you," the blond replied, unperturbed.

"You said so yourself, your bed represents the state of your mind, and mine's a complete mess."

Marik leaned in closer, whispering into his ear, "You were listening, like a good boy."

"It's so very _hard_ to be a good boy when you're such a cocktease."

"Oh, I bet a lot of things are _hard_ for you." Marik emphasized his point by very bluntly slipping his hand down the front of Bakura's pants. "Try not to cum yet, my face is too far."

"Then come closer."

Marik smirked at those words. "That's what you said the first time."

Finally, the blond leaned into him, kissing him sensually, tongue slipping out to caress his bottom lip, hand still on Bakura's bulge.

Bakura responded by shamelessly moaning into the kiss, no longer caring for self-restraint.

Marik's hands began to wander _away_ from where Bakura wanted them most. Quickly, the paralegal caught his wrist, and held his hand in place, firmly pressing it against his growing erection.

Marik broke the kiss.

"Tsk tsk. Good boys don't do that. I think I'll have to bind your hands." Despite his words, Marik slowly began to rub him, encouraging more wanton behaviour from Bakura.

"I swear to god, Marik, if you don't start touching me _properly_, I will do it myself," the older man threatened.

"So needy, Bakura," the blond teased. "Now get up."

Obediently, he stood. Marik grabbed his wrists, pulling them behind his back where the blond was making good use of his forgotten tie, tightening the knot for good measure.

"I'm surprised by how submissive you are," the rather devious Egyptian admitted upon finishing his work, mouth grazing the paralegal's earlobe as he spoke.

Bakura had to bite down on his lip, stifling any noises that threatened to escape. Hands slid down his back and encircled his waist, pulling him against Marik. His bound hands, unable to do anything in their current state, were merely caught between his lower back and Marik's torso.

"I'm getting what I want, aren't I?" he replied, not caring for what it implied.

"I never pegged you as a whore." The student languidly licked a suggestive line up his neck causing the man's breath to hitch. "I love when you make those noises."

"I'll make plenty more if you would just touch me!"

"Impatient. Maybe I want to blindfold you too. Would you like that?"

The question hung in the air as Marik had already grasped Bakura's chin, turning his head to access his mouth.

Passionately, the older man kissed him back, sucking on his bottom lip. He was desperate to make the most of it, alternating between light bites and hard licks, tongues slipped as lips moved against each other sensually.

Gently, Marik pushed him away; an embarrassing whimper left the paralegal's parted lips.

"Don't move," the blond warned.

Bakura watched enthralled as Marik searched through his closet. Realising the Egyptian stayed true to his words, he was left hoping Marik would hurry up. His pants were starting to feel terribly tight; he _needed_ relief.

Automatically, his eyes fell shut when Marik approached him. Seconds later, he felt a cotton scarf wrapping around his head, plunging him into darkness. All that was left were sounds and heightened sensation. The faintest trace of Marik's cologne reached his nose. It was intoxicating.

Helpless, he let himself be guided by Marik, his back hitting the mattress.

Marik's mouth was on his again, kissing him harshly.

He could only imagine the look on Marik's face, an imposing figure looming over him. The younger man's eyes probably held coldness, despite his satisfied expression. There was something evil in the way he seduced.

Bakura moaned when he felt Marik straddling him, pressure on his straining cock.

"Marik, please," he gasped, the words themselves were barely audible. Reflexively, he writhed beneath the body, craving friction. _Anything._

The blond responded by biting down on his lip, tugging hard before releasing him.

He could feel hands wrap around his throat, never squeezing, but the threat remained there. The thumb caressing his jugular reminded him of this.

"Please what?" he heard Marik speak.

A kiss was placed on his jaw, feather-light in softness.

"Please make me cum," he nearly whined, vulnerable to the domineering man above him.

The hands around his neck slowly slid down his chest, fingertips grazing his nipples in the process. He arched into the touch.

He felt Marik move, no longer sitting on his pelvis.

The distinct sound of a zipper cut through the air as he felt the student pulling at his pants.

The thrill of anticipation coursed through his veins, never quite knowing what to expect until it happened.

Bakura felt wetness on his collarbone, the sensation only made worse when Marik began to suck. It almost distracted him from the fact that he was _this _close to getting his hand job.

"Marik," he moaned in a feeble attempt to get his attention back to where he wanted it most, aching.

A hand glided up his right side, caressing his skin. The other reached into his boxers, grasping him.

"Fuck," he sighed, relieved to finally be getting somewhere.

"You can't cum until I say so," the blond warned him, lips ghosting against skin. The saliva on his abandoned collarbone chilled.

"Take off my blindfold," he demanded.

"Why should I?" Marik laughed seductively as his hand continued to stroke him, thumb gliding over his dripping head, slickening the rest of his flesh.

"I want to see you," he answered, unable to suppress a groan.

"You won't be ejaculating on my face _today_," Marik replied before finding another sensitive spot on his neck with his tongue.

"I still want to fucking see you!" He would have been more upset over that taunt if it weren't for fingers squeezing around his hard on. "Fuck," he hissed.

"So desperate, Bakura," Marik continued to tease as his free hand pushed up the scarf.

Bakura opened his eyes, the light blinding him momentarily. Finally able to see Marik, he saw _that_ look on his face, the one from the other night, like he wanted to consume him. Own him.

"You're so fucking hot," he stated. He wanted so badly to climax and be used by the student, something he never thought would have appealed to him.

"Good word choice." The blond leaned down to kiss him again, their lips swollen and red at this point in their carnal activities.

His arms felt sore, as well as his lower back. By habit, he pulled at his restraints, wanting to cling to the Egyptian.

He felt his end nearing as Marik continued to jerk him off with a firm grip.

"Can I?" he whispered hotly.

"Soon," the blond answered before roughly pushing his tongue against his.

The student's free hand returned to roaming his body before settling on his hip, fingers pressing tightly into his skin, scraping his bone.

He wasn't going to last much longer, he could feel the strain as he desperately tried to hold back. Another pathetic whimper slipped past his lips.

"Now," Marik gave the command, his approval.

Roughly, he bit down on the student's bottom lip, groaning deeply as he was finally able, _allowed_, to release.

Marik didn't seem to mind the pain. If anything, he appeared to be relishing in the reaction, giving his final strokes. The hot, thick substance coated his fingers, a few strands dripped onto its owner's stomach.

"Lick if off," the student commanded.

Bakura looked up to see Marik's semen covered hand hovering above his face. He was actually taken aback by the request.

"Fuck no!"

"Lick it off or I won't untie you. Tell me how you taste?" Marik smirked.

He glared back at him.

Marik was not backing down, his hand held firmly in front of him.

Very slowly, Bakura inched forward, the scowl never leaving him as he locked eyes with Marik.

The blond looked on with expectation as the paralegal's tongue experimentally touched the tip of his finger. The smallest hint of movement indicated a 'lick' before it retreated back into Bakura's mouth.

"Well?" Marik asked.

"It tastes salty...and bitter," he reproachfully replied, not wanting to taste _himself_ further.

Luckily, Marik was feeling merciful and pulled back his hand. "I'm not sure if I want this on my face," he said, looking at the whiteness coating his fingers.

"Would you prefer it inside of you?" Bakura smirked, wishing he could pull the man back down for more.

"You're such a slut," the blond declared at his words. Marik reached for some tissue, wiping his hand clean.

"Untie me," he demanded, arms feeling sore.

"Impatient too."

"I still have to deal with you, don't I?"

Marik's smirk darkened. "Don't worry about me, Bakura. I am quite satisfied with the little show you put on."

The paralegal gave him a curious look as he tried to sit up.

Marik reached behind him, loosening the tie. "Trust me, I got what I wanted out of it," the blond spoke, slipping the material out of its loop.

As soon as he was able to shrug off his bindings, Bakura began to rub his wrists. His numb shoulders ignited with a temporary burn, muscles stretching and blood flowing at its natural pace.

"Are you sure about that?" he couldn't help but ask anyway. This power trip was a new concept to him.

"Positive."

Finally able to touch him, Bakura grabbed him by the waist, pulling him back onto his lap. "Maybe, I'm not so sure about that," he spoke against the blond's neck, purposely wanting to get some sort of reaction out of him, anything.

"You used to hate me so much," Marik replied soothingly as he stroked the older man's hair.

"I hated a lot of things," he replied, leaving a kiss.

"If you continue to be a good boy, you'll get your chance another time," the blond said moments before slipping out of his lap.

Marik adjusted his clothing, like he hadn't just been engaged in indecent activities. "So how's my essay so far?"

That threw him off completely.

"Uh...it's alright," he answered, carefully. It was a little unnerving how easily Marik managed to..._switch_ like that.

The blond grabbed the bag of crisps he had abandoned and resumed eating them. As he did so, his eyes travelled down Bakura's front, landing right above his waist line.

The older man followed his trajectory, realising there were some half-dried remnants of his climax on his skin. Taking some tissue, he cleaned himself off before fixing his pants and buttoning his shirt.


End file.
